Running Scared
by Andi Horton
Summary: What if Irina had told Jack the truth twenty six years ago? Chapter twelve finally, finally up. If nobody remembers this story, I can hardly blame them!
1. Chapter One

Running Scared

_This has been inactive for so long that I really don't expect anybody to even remember it, but it has bothered me for a long time that I have so many fics languishing unfinished and I finally decided to do something about it. This was initially published back in 2003, and it is my dearest hope that it will be finished sometime 2007. I will do my best!_

_It's J/L, G-rated, suspense, romance, angst, and whatever else happens throughout the course of it. It's also dedicated to Virginia, who reads it for me, encourages me, believes in me, and who got mad at Laura for being angry. Sorry, Ginny- it just worked better that way. I only hope that the rest of you will enjoy it as much as she says she does._

0O0O0O0O0O0

Early morning sunlight has been known to encounter many obstacles in its quest to enter a room. People insist on hanging Venetian blinds or heavy drapes over their windows, so the light is either fractured upon entry, or refused admittance altogether. With these impediments running rampant all around the world, it is no wonder that the sun entered the master bedroom of the Bristow household with such enthusiasm.

Jack and Laura Bristow's window faced a bank of trees behind their apartment building, and that itself was reasonably isolated from prying eyes, and so they found they had no need for obscuring materials. Instead, Laura had hung a light set of muslin sheers from the curtain rod, just for the look of the thing, and even these were open more often than not.

Today they had been drawn, but the light still had no trouble filtering in and washing over the bed in which the couple slept, their arms comfortably interlocked, her head pillowed against his chest as if it knew it belonged there.

She was the first to waken, but kept her eyes closed for a few minutes, relishing in the warmth and soft comfort of her position. She breathed deeply, taking in the intermingled scents of aftershave, potpourri, her own French perfume, and fresh laundry. It was such a perfect, domestic blend that she breathed it in several more times, committing every aspect of it to memory. Someday, when she was old, and, perhaps, alone, she would close her eyes, breathe in, smell that familiar combination, and remember this one moment, when everything had been right.

The very thought made her give a little sigh of delight, and this sound was enough to wake him. He blinked, and looked around at the warmly-lit room, his gaze coming at last to rest on his wife. He stretched, smiling down at her peaceful face.

Her eyes were still closed, and the sun washed over the flawless lines of her face as he drank in every detail. He saw in her a remarkable likeness to the exquisite little girl who slept in the yellow bedroom down the hall- _their_ little girl. Sydney.

As if she heard his thoughts, Laura opened her eyes and met his gaze. A smile carved itself across her lips, and she, too, stretched out, yawning slightly.

"Good morning," she drawled, wriggling down a bit deeper into the mattress, "isn't it a gorgeous day?"

"It is," he agreed, unable to take his eyes off her. "What are we going to do today?"

"Mm . . ." she considered. "Something outside, I think. It's going to be just wonderful outdoors- look at that sunlight. Let's take Sydney to the park, or for a picnic, or something like that, shall we?"

"We could take her to the zoo," Jack suggested. "Sydney loves the zoo."

"Jack," Laura sat up, frowning. "Sydney hates the zoo. The camels scare her, and she cries whenever she hears the peacocks screaming. You know that."

"I thought she liked it," Jack said, mystified. Laura rolled her eyes.

"You did not. You just wanted to get a Slush-O at the concession stand, and you know it."

"They make good Slush-Os," Jack said defensively. "I can appreciate a good Slush-O."

"Right," Laura said dubiously. "Well, how about we go to the park, and you can get an Italian Ice?"

Jack didn't bother explaining to his wife the numerous discrepancies between Slush-Os and Italian Ice. He knew that Laura, had you asked her, would have said that she preferred Italian ice, so he knew all too well the futility of trying to convey his own point of view.

Instead, he simply sighed, nodded, and said,

"Fine, then, we'll go."

"Go where, Daddy?" wondered a new, smaller voice. Both parents looked up together, eyes moving to look toward the doorway, smiles lighting their faces simultaneously at the sight of their daughter.

"I don't know, Sydney," Jack said mysteriously. "Where do you suppose?"

"Not to the zoo, Daddy," she begged plaintively, and Laura gave Jack an 'I told you so, but do you ever listen to me? Noooo.' look, before turning to reassure her child.

"No, sweetheart, not the zoo. Mommy and Daddy are going to take you to the park, and maybe bring a picnic along. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Sydney brightened. "I'd love that, Mommy! When are we going? Can we go right now?"

Chattering away, she scrambled into bed between her parents, first kissing her mother, then throwing her little arms around Jack's neck and planting a decisive kiss on his cheek.

"I'm sorry you don't get to go to the zoo, Daddy," she said soberly. "But maybe you and Mommy can go while I'm at school."

"Thank-you," he said gravely, and her resulting smile was gracious.

"You're welcome, Daddy. Now can we go to the park?"

"Oh," Laura pretended to consider, "I don't know. Maybe we can think of something else even better to do."

"What, Mommy?" Sydney wondered, and Laura glanced over her little girl's shoulder to her husband.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Jack?"

"I think so," he nodded solemnly.

"What, Daddy, what?!" Sydney whirled on him, her little fists pounding on his chest, making him laugh.

"Well, just that, rather than going to that boring old park, you might actually prefer a genuine, fun-filled . . ." he paused, and glanced at Laura, cueing her to shout:

"Tickle attack!"

Shrieking, Sydney dove for the edge of the bed, but her father caught her easily and hauled her back so they could pin her on her back and tickle her without mercy.

When they finally had to relent because they themselves were out of breath, Sydney lay where they left her, weak with laughter. Jack smiled down at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, then looked up from his daughter's face into his wife's.

They looked so much like each other- both pink, laughing, so incredibly beautiful, and so, so very precious to him.

Laura returned his gaze steadily, her eyes thoughtful.

"Jack?" she said softly. "What are you thinking?"

"I was just thinking," he said quietly, "of how much I love you. Both of you."

"Do you?" she smiled, pleased. "Really?"

He gave a little laugh, and nodded.

"Yes. More and more each day. You two are everything to me, Laura. I mean- everything."

"Jack . . ." she was smiling through her misty eyes and Sydney, curious, craned her neck to get a better look at her parent.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

"Because, Sweetie, Daddy just told me he loves us more than anything."

"But then you should be happy," Sydney said, bewildered. "Mommy, you're silly! That was a very nice thing for Daddy to say, and you should be smiling!"

Laura laughed through her tears.

"Yes, I should. But sometimes when people are very happy, they cry, too. That's what Mommy's doing right now."

Sydney appeared unconvinced, but did not challenge this statement. Instead, she turned to her father, and tugged on his arm.

"Can we go now? I want to go to the park!"

"Well," Jack began, obviously ready to give in without a murmur- even to go to the park in his underwear, if it made his little girl happy. So, in the interests of all the innocent children at the park, and the more sensitive parents, Laura jumped in quickly before Jack could go on.

"We need to have breakfast first, silly goose!" she chided. "Breakfast, and showers for Mommy and Daddy, and we all have to get dressed, and make the picnic lunch- my goodness, if we don't get up now, we'll be leaving at supper time!"

So saying, Laura reached over, kissed her husband, scooped up her daughter, and slid out of bed. Jack, too, got up, and looked over at the wonderful woman who held their beautiful little girl, and wondered if he, too, would soon have to explain to Sydney that he was crying, not because he was sad, but because he was happier than he had ever thought possible.

0O0O0O0O0O0

After their bed had been made, Jack showered, while Laura helped Sydney make her own bed, pick out her clothes, and get brushed and dressed for the day. Then Jack emerged to dress, and as Laura showered, Sydney dragged her father to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Laura entered the kitchen just as Sydney ran to the table ensconced in the breakfast nook ("_Walk_, Sydney!") to lay the last fork in its place, and Jack announced that by the time they finished their fruit, the animal-shaped pancakes would be ready.

The little family sat down to eat, looking very much like something out of an old storybook. The breakfast nook glowed with the light of early morning, illuminating their smiling faces and the rarity and preciousness of such closeness in a family- in short, they were picture-perfect.

But, like any photograph, this family was like so many others in that there was a story behind it. The difference, though, was that this family's story was not the sort that can be sorted out into chapters and paragraphs, with a cunning, simple start and a tidy conclusion. The author of this particular tale would have never gotten past the brainstorming point, if he had even gotten that far. It was a jumble of lies, half-truths and contradictions of all of these, all scrawled every whichway on notepaper that had been dropped and incorrectly reassembled many times. Even the liars now were uncertain of what was true and what was not. The lines between reality and the parts they were playing had become blurred- temptingly, perhaps even dangerously, so. And it is when this state has been reached that things can happen.

For now, though, everything appeared normal. Sydney chattered away a mile a minute, and Jack and Laura listened as they ate, smiling at each other over the silky brown head.

Husband and wife, very much in love, with a beautiful little girl, all of them healthy and happy. Better, even, than normal- everything seemed absolutely perfect.

Such fallacies, though, can only be fleeting. Indeed, even as Laura stood to clear the table, the telephone rang. Laura rolled her eyes, set the plates back down again, and, wiping her hands on her pants, went out into the hallway to answer it.

"Bristow residence," she announced unceremoniously, and any sane person, having heard the warning note in her tone, would have pleaded a wrong number and hung up without quibbling. Laura Bristow had a family outing planned, and had she any say in the matter at all, she was not going to allow anybody to ruin it for her.

As was often the case, though, she had none. Instead she listened, nodded, and sighed as she spoke.

"Yes, Arvin, he's right here."

She covered the mouthpiece and gave Jack a Look.

"It's Arvin."

Jack nodded and stood, not quite able to meet his wife's gaze.

"I- I'll take it in the den."

"Yes, Jack," Laura sighed, "you do that."

She watched him retreat, knowing all too well what an early-morning phone call from Arvin Sloane would mean. Jack would be called in to work on something or other, they would miss out on their time together, and Laura- well, Laura would be doing a lot of tongue-holding and careful listening when he got back.

But now she turned to her daughter, feeling suddenly rebellious as she spoke to her firmly.

"Go on, now, Sydney, and get your shoes on. We don't want to miss out on any time at the park, do we?"

"But- Mommy!" Sydney said, bewildered. She knew as well as Laura did what a call from Daddy's supervisor at work meant. Daddy would go, and Mommy would be angry, because the time they were supposed to be having together would be spent apart. Again.

But Laura was either in denial or fed up, or maybe even a bit of both, because she simply shook her head impatiently, and clapped her hands.

"Did you hear me? I said scoot!"

So Sydney, who knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone and that look, scooted. This left Laura to clear all the dishes off the table to dump in the dishwasher, throw together a couple sandwiches, and fill a Thermos with lemonade.

She would have been one of the first to admit that it was far from the picnic she'd been hoping for, but at the moment, she didn't particularly care. Laura Bristow could be as stubborn as a mule when she felt like it - some might even say the mule had nothing on her - and right now, she felt like it.

"Mommy?" Sydney stood uncertainly in the doorway, shoes on her feet, a hat on her head and a book bag filled with toys on her back. Laura smiled at her, pleasantly surprised.

"Well, that was quick. Good girl, Sydney. Now-"

She was interrupted by the appearance of Jack, who materialised in the other doorway, obviously dreading the scene he expected to come.

"I- Laura, I'm-"

"Jack," she said, somewhat plaintively, "just say it."

He sighed heavily.

"I'm going out for a little while."

"Fine," Laura decided, "so are we."

"You- are?"

"Yes. Enough is enough. Sydney and I are going to have some time together, with or without you, Jack, and if by some miracle you can squirm your way out of this one early, then by all means come and join us. We'll be at the park. Enjoy yourself, Jack, and we'll try to do the same. Come on, now, Sydney."

Sydney went, but halfway to the front door of the apartment she stopped, turned around, and ran back to throw her little arms around her father's legs, looking up adoringly into his face.

"Have fun, Daddy," she instructed him. "I love you."

"I love you, too, little girl," he smiled, bending down to enfold her in his arms, and kiss her forehead. "You have fun with Mommy, all right? Promise me that you will."

"I promise, Daddy," she nodded, and he smiled.

"Good. Go on, now."

He stood, and watched her skip out the door ahead of her mother, who turned and looked back at him, her face sad.

"I love you," he said, if somewhat inadequately, by way of a plea, explanation and apology. "You know that, don't you?"

Anyone besides Jack might easily have missed the almost imperceptible softening of her face, but then, supposedly, nobody knew her like Jack did.

"Yes, Jack, of course I know that. I- I love you too." After saying the words, she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, then went on.

"It's just that your work, Jack, it- it's taken over everything, There's being dedicated, and then- then there's this."

She shook her head, and sighed.

"Enjoy your day, Jack, and we'll do our best to pretend we're enjoying ours."

That said, she left, calling after Sydney to wait for her. Jack waited until they were both gone before, feeling more than vaguely guilty, he picked up his briefcase and went out the door.

0O0O0O0O0O0

On the drive to the park, Laura was principally silent, and Sydney, who was really very smart, and certainly perceptive enough to know the warning signs, was quiet also. It was only when they were approaching the park entrance that Sydney spoke up hesitantly.

"Mommy? Are you still mad at Daddy?"

Laura glanced in the rearview mirror at the worried little face, and felt her own softening still further.

"Oh, no, Sweetie. Daddy and I are just- airing out our dirty laundry." Then she had to laugh at the bewildered expression on her daughter's face.

"Look, now, Sydney- here's the park."

Sydney sat up eagerly and looked out the window, apparently distracted from her previous line of questioning. However, Laura knew quite well that she would return to it sooner or later- her daughter was nothing if not tenacious, and while usually Laura applauded that trait, there were times when it presented more of a problem than anything else.

"Mommy, who was that on the phone?"

"Nobody, dear. Just a salesman."

"He talked funny."

"Did he? Funny how?"

"Funny like an accent. Like he couldn't talk right."

"Oh?" Laughing, as if it meant nothing. "And since when did you become the authority on proper speech, may I ask?"

There had been other times, too. Times when Sydney had amazed, even frightened her mother with a perception that had never been threat with Jack. It had made Laura more tense- more wary than before. Strange, really, that her daughter should present more of a problem than her husband, who had been the one from whom she had anticipated trouble in the first place.

Now, though, it would be hard to think of the little girl with the soft, round cheeks and silky brown braids as any kind of a threat. She was up on her knees, her palms and nose pressed against the glass, brown eyes sparkling as the landscaped lawns and gardens rolled past.

"Isn't it pretty, Mommy?" she marveled, glancing towards the front seat, seeing her mother's smiling eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, Sydney," she smiled, taking in every inch of her daughter's vibrant, shining face, "it's beautiful."

It didn't take them long to find the perfect spot on which to lay out the blanket Laura had brought, and set down the picnic basket that held their lunch. Then Laura had to fend Sydney off with the reminder that she'd just had breakfast, and she shouldn't want lunch for hours.

Sydney pouted, but was easily distracted by the suggestion that she go and make use of the play equipment stationed within easy view of the blanket. Laura watched her go, a childish figure that looked so disturbingly small, especially when contrasted with the rolling lawns spread out around her. Yet, as small as she looked, she also looked strong, somehow- as if there was already evident in her something of both her father and mother.

The thought terrified Laura more than she might have expected it to. It was fine if Sydney turned out like Jack. He was a good man- a strong one, too, if not always perceptive. But if she were to turn out like her mother . . . Laura cringed. She loved her little girl too much to want that for her. In fact, she loved her little girl so much that it somewhat frightened her.

Had she ever, she wondered, felt for anybody else the sort of love she felt for her daughter? Maybe, but if so, she was unable to remember it. And that sort of love you would always remember- Laura was sure of it.

Now, though, she watched as Sydney flew from one activity to another, a flash of blue denim and bright yellow energy as she darted about, seemingly incapable of settling on anything for more than a few seconds before she tired of it, and moved on again. Every now and then she would glance over, smile, and give her mother a little wave- almost one of reassurance. How, Laura wondered, could a six-year-old possibly know that her mother needed reassuring right now?

Of course, biased though they might have been, both Jack and Laura would always freely admit that Sydney was far above average, and they would have been right. But even an above average six-year-old . . .

Laura shook her head, amazed and proud. Incredible, really, that the little girl who was never supposed to have existed should have become so wonderful . . .

"Watch me, Mommy!" Sydney shouted, and zipped down one slide, scrambled up another, and whooshed down that one, too. Her mother laughed, entertained and still feeling very proud.

"Wonderful, Sydney! That was fantastic- you're very fast, aren't you, Sweetheart?"

Sydney fairly glowed as she ran over to wait her turn for the swing set, and Laura was about to get up and offer to push when she became aware of a presence behind her.

She spun around, and looked up into a cold, angular, distinctly Slavic face. Her heart chilled, as did her tone, but she managed to keep her face impassive as she spoke.

"What do you want?"

"Good day to you, too, Comrade Derevko," he greeted her solemnly.

"Don't call me that!" she hissed, glancing around.

"Why not?" he wondered.

"Well- somebody might hear," she stammered, and he arched an eyebrow, looking around.

"What if somebody did? A few bored housewives, imaginative little children- I think that we are safe, don't you?"

Laura frowned, but said nothing. Her visitor nodded in the direction of the play set, his expression unreadable.

"She is very beautiful, your little girl."

"Yes," Laura allowed, "I suppose she is."

"She takes after her mother, no?" he suggested. "Perhaps she has already become gifted at keeping her little secrets?"

Laura stiffened as he spoke the words.

, her mind urged. 

In this, though, Laura was mistaken. Sydney was far from normal- how could she help it, with the parents she had? At that particular moment, she was sitting on the swing and closely scrutinizing the man who was talking to her mother.

He was tall, blonde, and, as her thoughts would later rationalize her intense dislike of him, "his looks didn't feel right."

Of course, Sydney couldn't know that she was unconsciously taking into account the contours of his face, which were distinctly unlike any likely to be found on the average American citizen, and other factors such as his manner of carriage and dress- things the average child would never notice.

All she knew was that she saw a strange man, talking to _her_ mother, and, judging by Laura's posture, upsetting her terribly. Sydney frowned, dragged her toes to slow and stop the swing, and hopped off, heading over to their blanket.

"What are you doing here?" Laura asked quietly, and her companion appeared thoughtful.

"I am simply a messenger, Comrade."

"Oh? And what is your message?"

"Simply that our mutual friends overseas have become concerned, as of late, in regards to your relationship with your little cover story- your husband, and your child. We worry that perhaps you have become too close to them, and that in doing so, you have compromised your integrity as a valuable resource to us."

"That's ridiculous!" Laura scoffed, but her guest simply tilted his pale head thoughtfully to the side.

"Is it?" he wondered, and Laura, tightening her jaw, fell silent as he went on.

"I have come to tell you also that a meeting has been held, regarding your assignment, and a conclusion was reached."

"And?" Laura prompted tersely, when he paused.

"You have been released from your position here. You are to sever all ties, effective at oh-three hundred hours this Wednesday."

"That's just four days from now!" Laura said, aghast. "There's no way I could possibly-"

"And why not?" the man demanded. "It is not as if you have to pack, is it, Comrade?"

She looked up at him, struck dumb. This couldn't be happening to her.

"Mommy?"

Her head snapped around, and she saw Sydney standing there, her expression quizzical.

"Mommy, can we eat now?"

"Yes," Laura gasped, groping for the basket. "Yes, Sweetheart, of course we can eat now. Here- take your sandwich."

Sydney took it, but she kept her eyes fastened on the tall, blonde man, her expression openly hostile.

"Who are you?" she asked, her tone almost dangerous.

"Sydney," Laura said sharply, "sit down and eat your sandwich."

"I'm a friend of your mother's, Sydney," the man said pleasantly.

"No, you're not." Sydney contradicted coldly. "Who are you?"

The man arched an eyebrow in mild surprise, and Laura spoke, her voice tense to the point of being panicky.

"Sydney Anne Bristow, you are being unspeakably rude. Now, you apologize to the-" she faltered slightly, "nice man, you close your mouth, sit down, and eat your sandwich like a good girl."

Sydney glared at both her mother and the intruder, causing a thin smile to appear on the latter's face.

"She _is_ like her mother," he chuckled, appearing to be honestly amused. "She quite hates me. I think she almost wants to kill me."

"Mommy?" Sydney glanced at her mother. "If I called Daddy, he could come and make him go away."

"No, Sydney, you don't have to call Daddy," Laura instructed quickly. "Mommy is fine. Eat your sandwich. The nice man is just leaving- isn't that right, Comrade?"

Sydney and her mother both looked up at the man, expressions full of distrust and loathing, respectively. It was amazing, really, how much they looked alike.

The man made an abrupt, stiff little bow, and, wishing them both a good day, walked swiftly away. He heard Sydney talking behind him as he left, her little voice oddly grown up as she addressed her mother.

"I don't like him, Mommy. He's a bad man. He wants to hurt us."

He ignored Laura's half-hearted reassurances to the contrary as he headed towards his car. He was, he mused, going to have to call his superiors and inform them that Irina Derevko might just prove to be less than amenable to following their instructions, and he did not look forward to the storm that was sure to follow.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_How about that, now? Are you sick of it already, or do you want some more? Please tell me! As I said before, it is showing every indication of becoming a very long fic._

_Now, as you surely must know, I in no way own these characters. I just really enjoy making up stories for them, and not getting paid for it. Hmm. Does that make me strange? I don't know. I can, however, tell you who owns them- if I don't, they might get mad at me, and that would mean no more fics!_

_ABC Touchtone owns Alias, and it was created by JJ Abrams, who owns -Bad Robot Productions._

_Now, you won't be seeing those disclaimers again until the very last chapter, so don't look for them until then, 'kay? Got it? Good. Do, however, watch for the next chapter- coming soon! Or maybe not. School's killing me this year . . ._


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two._

_Here._

_Now._

_Please read._

0O0O0O0O0O0

When Jack got home at quarter after four, the apartment was already filling with the aroma of something undeniably homemade. He set his briefcase down by the door, and headed into the kitchen, where he found Laura standing at the stove and Sydney at the kitchen table with crayons and a colouring book.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and running over to hug him, "Did you have a good day, Daddy?"

"It was awful!" he laughed, lifting her high into the air above his head, "Absolutely terrible! You'll never be able to imagine how miserable I was, knowing I couldn't be with you."

"Us too, Daddy," Sydney promised fervently. "We wished you could be with us. 'Specially when that mean man talked to Mommy."

"Mean man?" Jack's forehead wrinkled, and he glanced from his daughter to his wife, then back again. "What mean man, Sweetie?"

"A tall, mean man. He had blonde hair, and a long black coat and a funny voice."

"Funny voice? What do you mean Sydney?"

"Like an accent. And he had creepy eyes- really, really light blue. They looked like ice."

Jack frowned, and looked over at his wife. She was standing with her head bowed and her arms braced against the countertop, taking deep, shaking breaths as if to calm herself.

"Laura?" he asked, and she cringed, as if expecting a physical blow.

"Jack," she licked her dry lips nervously, "I- there's something that I- I have to tell you."

Jack hesitated, then put Sydney down.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go to your room for a little while? Mommy and Daddy need to talk in private."

"Okay, Daddy," she tugged him down, kissed his cheeks, then ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her bedroom, leaving Jack and Laura alone together.

Jack turned to look at Laura's back, somehow afraid of what he saw in her rigid posture, and the almost palpable fear that was filling the kitchen.

"Laura . . ." he said quietly. "Laura, what is it?"

She didn't turn around, but remained as she was. She looked somehow terrified, and vulnerable, and it was this that kept him from grabbing her and shaking the truth out of her.

"Laura, please," he coaxed her. "You're obviously upset, and I want to help you, but I can't do that unless you talk to me. Was it this person Sydney was talking about? This- this man? Did he do something, or maybe say something, that upset you, or Sydney, or-"

"No, Jack, no." Laura said, shaking her head. "It wasn't him. Or rather, it isn't his fault that I- that I'm like this. He- he upset me, yes, and Sydney too, but that isn't what I have to- to tell you. It- Jack, it's much bigger than that."

"Well, what is it, then? Laura, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"No, Jack, it's more complicated than just- just telling you. This will- Jack, if I tell you - and that's _if_ - then this will change everything. That's not an exaggeration- it's the truth."

Jack shook his head, bewildered and impatient.

"Laura, just _tell_ me!"

"I _can't_!" She turned, now, her face streaked with tears as she looked up into her husband's face. "Jack, I _can't_! Don't you see? If I could, Jack, I swear that I would! In a heartbeat, Jack, I promise you!"

"Why _can't_ you?"

"Because it would _kill_ you! I _know_ it would!"

"Laura, _please_." He moved forward, taking her arms firmly in his hands. "Look at me."

She dropped her eyes, and he shook her.

"_Look at me!_"

Reluctantly, and ever so slowly, she lifted her face to meet his gaze. Tear-stained and mascara-smudged though she was, Jack didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful.

"Laura," he said hoarsely, "whatever it is that you- that you feel is so horrible you can't tell me about it, you're wrong. I am your husband, and nobody could possibly love you more than I. Whatever this is, you can tell me. You _must_. Please- or you'll drive me crazy with _wondering_."

"Better a crazy husband than one who hates me," Laura muttered. Jack drew back in shock.

"How can you _say_ that?! Haven't you been listening to anything that I've just said? I _love_ you, Laura!"

"But Jack, that's just it!" she half-sobbed, half screamed. "I'm _not_ Laura!"

"You- what?" he blinked, stepping back. "What are you talking about?"

"I- Jack, you had better sit down," Laura whispered, her eyes bright with fresh tears.

So, suddenly filled with an unspeakable apprehension, Jack sat. And he listened, with growing disbelief, horror and bewilderment, to a story that was going to change him forever.

When Laura had finally finished speaking, it was over an hour later, and Jack was completely numb. He simply could not believe - or, more accurately, comprehend - what he had just heard.

Laura was right- she wasn't Laura. Or at least, she hadn't been when she was born. She had been Irina Derevko, a Russian citizen, and from a relatively young age she had been an operative for the KGB.

"You were- my assignment, Jack. I was supposed to- to marry you, and- and get information about your work, and- and everything. And- that's what I did. For ages, I- I did my job. Very well, or so I was told. But then - I'm not sure when, exactly - things- things changed."

She had covered her eyes, then, and gave a shaky laugh.

"I don't even know quite how it happened, Jack. I was such a professional, you know? Strong, and cold, and uncaring. But somehow- somehow, Jack, you got to me. And I fell in love with you."

Then she had told him about the man who had approached her in the park, and bothered Sydney so much.

"His name is Irik Petrov. He's of a rank roughly equal to mine, but our superiors are constantly at odds, and his is ranked slightly above mine, so he gets the more choice assignments. He told me I- I have to go back to Russia. Three o'clock Wednesday morning. I have to leave you, and Sydney, and my life here, and as an agent of the KGB, I should have no problem with this, but I _do_, Jack. I love you - both of you - so, so horribly, and I- Jack, I just don't know what to do! It will kill me if I go, Jack, but if I don't . . ."

She broke off, rigid with fear at the knowledge of what would happen to the family she loved so dearly if she should refuse to leave them. Jack stared at her in frozen horror, and she flushed.

"Oh, Jack, please! I _told_ you that you would hate me, didn't I?"

"Laura," he said dully, "I don't hate you. How can I possibly hate you when I don't even know you?"

Laura have a little, sobbing gasp, and had just buried her face in her palms when Sydney appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide and scared in her face.

"Daddy? Is Mommy all right?" she wondered.

He looked at her without really seeing her as he answered,

"She will be, Sydney. Now, go to bed. We'll bring you supper later on, okay?"

Then he looked down at his hands, and Laura kept her face buried in hers, so Sydney didn't really see any option other than to do as her father had said, and return to her room.

0O0O0O0O0O0

It was over half an hour before Laura forced herself to stand, and fill a plate with cold supper for Sydney. She heated it in the microwave, then took it to her daughter.

She found her curled up on her bed in a tight little ball. Her big, brown eyes were suspiciously bright, and her bottom lip was trembling.

"Sydney?" Laura asked, worried. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

Sydney managed a tense little shake of her head, no.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked gently, coming over to seat herself on the side of the bed.

"You'n Daddy are fighting!" Sydney whimpered.

"Well- yes, Dear, we were having a bit of a blow-up, but we've done that before and you haven't cried like this."

"But you haven't ever yelled that loud, or fought that long before, Mommy."

Laura sighed heavily.

"No, I don't suppose we have. But Sydney, you- you mustn't worry, all right? Mommy and Daddy are grownups, and we can work this out just fine, okay? You have to trust me, Sydney."

"I do, Mommy," she promised gravely. "You and Daddy both."

"Well, good then. Now, eat your supper, all right? Then go change into your jammies and crawl into bed."

"Okay, Mommy," Sydney nodded, sitting up to hug her mother and give her a tiny peck on the cheek, "I love you."

"Oh, I love you too, Precious," Laura breathed, putting her arms around her little girl and pulling her close. "I love you, too."

"You'll tell Daddy I love him?" Sydney requested, and Laura nodded, her heart aching. This beautiful little miracle was actually hers, and this was the sort of world Laura had made for her.

"I think he already knows that, though," she added.

"But you'll tell him anyway, Mommy?" Sydney pressed, and Laura had to smile as she nodded again.

"Yes, Sweetheart, I will. Now, eat your soup and your vegetables, and I'll see if I can't do something about some dessert for you before you go to sleep, all right?"

Sydney nodded, her face grave, and sat down to her supper as her mother slipped quietly from the room.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Laura found Jack in exactly the same position as she had left him, sitting slightly slumped over in a kitchen chair, looking blankly at his hands. She bit her lip, and stood in the doorway more uncertainly than she had ever stood anywhere in her life.

Was this, then, what love did to a person? Made one uncertain and faltering, even when one was normally the most commanding personality in the room? It was a new experience for her, but newer still was the fact that she was completely willing to experience it. For Jack and Sydney, she knew, she would do anything. Now if only she could convince Jack of that as well as Sydney, she might actually be able to piece some sort of a life together.

"Jack?" she whispered, and his cheek twitched. She took that as acknowledgement, and went on.

"Jack, I don't know what to say to you to make this better," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I have done some things in my life that-" she broke off, a hand pressed to her forehead, and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I have done some things that no person should even have to hear about, much less do, or have done to them or a loved one. I have been a horrible person, Jack, and I know that. I tricked you into believing that I was somebody I was not. Somebody I never was- have never been. I admit that, and I cannot even begin to imagine what this- this must mean to you."

She looked away for a second, bit her lip, took a deep breath, and then looked back to her husband's profile.

"To say that I am sorry would be an understatement so gross as to almost be a lie. I regret with ever fiber in my body that I have so betrayed, hurt and deceived you and our daughter. If there were some way - any way - in Heaven or on Earth that I could make myself the person I have become over the past decade, I would take it in a heartbeat, Jack. But instead- instead I'm just this- this person."

She winced as she thought of all that admission incorporated, although Jack could not possibly know it at the time- perhaps would not find out for years to come, and never would, if she had anything to say about it.

"I'm just this Irina Derevko woman," she heard herself saying, "who wants more than anything in the world - more than food, air, water or life itself - to be Laura Bristow."

She stood, her teeth wreaking havoc on the flesh of her lower lip, looking at Jack with her whole heart in her eyes, perhaps for the very first time in her life. It was amazing, really, she thought- she actually loved this man. This man she had married under false pretenses, an assumed name, and, really, duress, had actually become somebody she loved very dearly. It seemed profoundly fitting that, now that she had finally been completely honest with him, he wanted nothing to do with her.

At last she let out the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding in, and spoke to him once more.

"You may or may not believe me when I say that I am sorry, but with all my heart, Jack, I am. I regret every lie I ever told you, and I regret not regretting them when I first told them. I am sorry you went into this marriage and our life together with your whole heart, while it's taken me years to get to that point. I hate that our little girl thinks I am as good and wonderful a person as you, when I have not even half the heart and courage and strength as you do."

She was crying again, but she was going to get through this, even if it killed her- and it very well might.

"You put me to shame, Jonathan," she sobbed. "When I was trying to get- get information from you, and you gave it so willingly, because you loved me, and trusted me, I tried to tell myself that it was because you were weak, and gullible, and a fool in love. But all along I knew - I just _knew_, Jack - that you were more than that. You were - are - the best person I know. I don't even deserve your name, Jack, much less your love or forgiveness, but because I've always been something of a greedy person, I- I'm going to ask you to someday, perhaps, be able to give me all of those."

When she had finished speaking, Laura let out the last of her breath in a funny, shaky little sigh.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight, Jack," she whispered. "And I am quite frankly exhausted, so I'm going there now."

She turned to leave, then, stopped, and looked back.

"Sydney asked me to tell you that she loves you, Jack. She does very much, and though of course you have no reason to believe a word I say, for what it's worth, so do I."

Then, without waiting for the reaction she knew she wouldn't get, she left at a run, because if she had gone any slower she'd have turned back and thrown herself at his feet and remained there until he told her otherwise.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Jack remained where he sat long after she had left. He was not sure if that was because he didn't want to move, or he thought he couldn't, or even because he really was incapable of voluntary motion. Nor did he make any attempt to find out. Instead, he simply sat, and thought about his life.

Not his whole life, of course- he may not have been ancient, but Jack Bristow was not exactly what they call a spring chicken. It was for that reason that he skipped over his childhood and university years, commencing instead at the period in which he had recently begun working, which was when Laura had first become a part of his life.

He had actually only just noticed his superior, Arvin Sloane, beginning to display disturbing tendencies towards- well- treason. Jack had wrestled with his feelings on the issue for several weeks before reporting directly to a much higher-ranking officer, and had received instructions to wait, an action which did not come easily to Jack Bristow. He had therefore been deep in thought, and hadn't seen the slight young woman overloaded with numerous books struggling along in front of him until he was on top of her, knocking both her and her armload to the ground.

"Oh!" she had gasped indignantly, glaring up at him. He, looking down into those furious brown eyes, had felt himself flush a rich, brilliant crimson from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair.

"I- I'm sorry," he had stammered, "Are you hurt?"

"I will be if you don't get off of me," she'd grimaced, so he had scrambled up off of her and helped her to her feet before he returned to his knees, groping around to gather up her books.

"I'm terribly sorry," he repeated breathlessly, passing her an early edition Brontë, "I didn't see you."

"Well, I should hope not," she had said wryly, "Or else I might be forced to conclude that you make a habit of deliberately charging headfirst into every unsuspecting young lady who walks out in front of you."

After Jack, still blushing, had assured her that this was not the case, and apologised for the third time, he belatedly offered her his hand.

"Er- Jack Bristow."

"Laura Alden," she smiled, taking his hand in her own. "How do you do, Mr. Bristow?"

"Jack, if you don't mind," he'd urged. "And- I'm well. Thank-you. You?"

"A bit bruised, perhaps, and a little dirty, but otherwise I'm almost amused, thank you for asking."

"Oh." he had smiled faintly, and studied his toes. "I- well, I know I've said I'm sorry multiple times now, but perhaps you'd allow me to actually act on that, and buy you a cup of coffee? If, that is," he had added hastily, "you haven't anywhere else to be."

She had appeared to consider, her beautiful face thoughtful, and he'd found himself holding his breath, hoping desperately that she would say yes.

She had.

She'd nodded, and smiled, and said she would be happy to, and he had believed her. Then, and all the time afterward as they dated, supposedly fell in love, and married- he had believed all of it. Everything she said, he had accepted without question. Every statement she had made he never doubted to be true, from her family history to the numerous "I love you"s, he had infallibly accepted and believed- just as he was meant to.

And now, after all this time, to find out that none of it had been real? It was, he thought, a miracle that he wasn't dead by now, since she had in one evening ripped away everything he lived for by telling him that it was all a lie.

No, he corrected himself, not all of it. Not quite, at any rate.

She had said she loved him.

Now, some people - most, in fact - would have been likely - and indeed justified in doing so - to have brushed that aside as simply being an attempt to get back on Jack's good side. Jack, thought, was better trained than to think such a thing.

If Laura was the professional he now believed she was, and she had just bared her soul, telling him the truth for the first time since she met him, then she wasn't likely to turn back around and deliver a lie that odds would overwhelmingly indicate Jack would disbelieve anyway. The only conceivable reason, Jack knew, that anybody would say something they knew beforehand would be received as a lie, would be if they felt so strongly about it that they had to get it out there, regardless of the reception they knew it would be given.

So was it, then, possible that Laura was telling the truth in regards to that? That she had, over time, fallen in love with him?

Maybe it was ridiculous for him to want that so desperately to be true, when she had already lied to him about who knew how many other things, but he really didn't care. He only cared that, even after this revelation she had made - this bombshell she had dropped - he still loved her so dearly that he wanted more than anything else to know that it was true, and she really did love him after all.

So- he still loved her. Even after all this, he still loved her.

It terrified him.

Surely, _surely_ it was not right; not normal to love somebody so much that, even when you discovered they had been deceiving you since the day you met, you didn't care, just as long as she really did love you.

Yet, scared as he was, he was also, oddly, reassured. Because Laura _did_ love him, then, and even though it scared him that it meant that much to him, more than anything else it gave him a sense of relief so immense it was nearly indescribable.

Once the initial weight of relief had passed, he got to his feet and made his way upstairs.

Laura, true to her word - in this, if not in all things - was curled up on the couch in the same fetal position as Sydney, a coffee-and-cream coloured Afghan pulled up under her chin. She had long since fallen into a troubled sleep, the corners of her mouth tugged down, her brow furrowed, and her general expression a fretful one.

Looking at her, seeing her troubled and tired like that, he simply could not bring himself to think about being mad any more for now. Instead, he bent over the still form and tugged the blanket up more securely under her chin. Then he reached out and hesitantly brushed a strand of brown hair away from her face. She stirred, but didn't wake, and in doing so reminded him so much of Sydney that it made his heart ache.

He sighed, wishing there was some way to carry her into their bed without waking her, and brushed a kiss across her lips before he stumbled off to their bedroom, all but a walking zombie at quarter to two in the morning.

Late - or early - though it was, he still planned on getting what meagre sleep the remainder of the night could provide him- he had a feeling that in the days ahead he was going to need it.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_You enjoyed? I hope so! If you did, I would dearly love to hear about it! I also would enjoy your feedback on writing technique, plot/character development, and things like that, especially as the story goes on. Fanfiction is my way of practicing for working on my original stories (that is, stories with both original plot lines and original characters), so I hope that any constructive criticism I get here will help me in my other work as well. I love to write, but that isn't always enough. When you want to do it for a living, as I do, you need to be good, and you guys constitute a major part of my - very few - methods of obtaining technical feedback, so please, give, give, give!_

_Disclaimers, for those of you who are actually looking for them (and yes, I am sure that there is at least one person who is) may next be viewed in the concluding chapter or epilogue or what have you of this story, so look for them when that happens. Until then, they aren't going to be here._


	3. Chapter Three

_Thank you so much everybody for the wonderful feedback! There's nothing so encouraging as an inundation of positive comments and helpful critiques, all of which serve to make the next chapter just that much more fun to write. I am so glad you're enjoying this, and I hope that this chapter - and those that follow - will continue to meet with your expectations. _

_Enjoy!_

0O0O0O0O0O0

Sydney was the first to wake up the next morning, still pondering the dessert she had been cheated of the night before. If Mommy and Daddy's fight was big enough to make Mommy forget dessert - or forget anything, for that matter - then it must be something very, very big.

Mommy and Daddy rarely ever fought. They had "democratic discussions" from time to time, when they found a topic they disagreed over, and yes, every now and then, they would "air out their dirty laundry", which was basically thrashing out any problems that couldn't be discussed. But real fights? In the Bristow household? Ones that didn't involve bedtime, vegetables or the last chocolate chip cookie? To call them unheard of would be an understatement, to say the very least.

That's why Sydney was so bothered by it. Her parents loved each other too much to let their problems build up until they came exploding out in a raging, nasty battle that lasted all day and left everybody weary and worn for weeks afterward.

Sydney had been to friends' homes where this was the accepted way of things, and it had both bewildered and rather frightened her. Then she had asked her mother about it, and Laura's simple, direct explanation had helped quite a bit.

"Some people care so much about themselves that they forget to find out how the people they love are feeling. That's when everything builds up inside, and they start to fight. Mommy and Daddy care about each other, so we find out how we feel about things before they get out of hand. When you grow up and get married, make sure it's to somebody who will find out how _you_ feel, Sydney, all right?"

"I will, Mommy," she had answered solemnly, "I promise."

Now, though, apparently Mommy and Daddy had forgotten to tell each other about something rather important, and it had built up into something quite nasty.

For that reason, Sydney took her time about leaving her bedroom. She made her bed, unmade it, and then remade it. She dressed herself, then changed her outfit four times. She put every odd and end she could find into her toy box, then took them out to put them on the shelf, and then put them back into the toy box once more. She brushed her hair far longer than she had ever done before, and tried seven or eight subtly different styles before settling on the first style, which was no style all. After a horrifically lengthy shoe selection, Sydney had to, however reluctantly, admit to herself that she was probably ready to go out into the apartment, whether she wanted to or not.

Once in the hallway, the first thing she saw was Mommy. She was terribly pale and tired-looking, with dark, smudgy circles under her eyes, but when she saw Sydney she made a valiant effort to smile.

"Good morning, Sweetheart. How are you?"

Sydney hesitated before answering, because as much as proper etiquette called for a lie, her mother would catch it in a second.

"I'm not very good, Mommy," she admitted at last, and Laura nodded unhappily.

"I know, Sydney, and I'm very sorry we couldn't have put that whole mess off somehow, but sometimes it's very important to get things out in the open as soon as possible. This was one of them. Do you understand?"

Sydney didn't, but since Mommy was seeming to imply that things would work out all right after all, she figured she could fake it.

"Yes, Mommy."

"All right, Sweetie. Now, go into the dining room, and you'll find some breakfast there, okay?"

Feeling immensely relieved, Sydney nodded, and ran into the kitchen, where she found cereal and orange juice waiting on the table for her, all by their lonesome.

She poured the pitcher of milk over the cereal ever-so-carefully, and was just starting to eat when she heard Daddy come out of his and Mommy's bedroom.

She tensed as she heard her mother approaching him, but even as she did, Laura's hesitant tone reached her.

"Jack, I-"

"Shh," Jack instructed softly. "Laura, I- I don't know how to say this how I feel it, so I'm just going to say it, and hope it comes out all right.

"I love you. I've loved you from the moment I first saw you, flat on your back underneath me with about a thousand books lying all around us. I've never stopped loving you since, and though for the life of me I don't know why, even this hasn't changed that. I- well, I guess that's about it, really. But please know, Laura, that even if I might now sometimes- sometimes wonder if you are telling the truth, I- I will _always_ love you."

There was a brief silence for a while, and Sydney held her breath, wondering how her mother would react to that.

The answer came not long after, in the form of Laura's quiet, heartwrenching sobs. When they became more muffled, Sydney knew Daddy had pulled her to him, and she had hidden her face in his chest like Sydney did when she was hurt or scared.

Was Mommy hurt? She must be, because Mommy was never scared. Not even when every light in the apartment building went off during that big storm, and they were left in complete darkness. Sydney had wanted to cry, but Mommy hadn't let her. She'd talked to her so happily and quickly that Sydney hadn't even been able to muster so much as a single tear.

"It's a real adventure, don't you see, Sydney?" she had asked merrily. "An honest to goodness treasure hunt, when you look at it properly."

So of course Sydney had wanted to know what the treasure was, and Mommy had said it would be candles and a flashlight, because they needed light to see by.

Sydney had known both where the flashlight and the candles were, so she had told Mommy that she would take them to where the treasure was hidden, and Mommy had agreed to follow along behind.

"I'll watch your back," she had added, and Sydney's nose had wrinkled in the gloom.

"How, Mommy? You can't see anything."

So then Laura had explained the term, and it had seemed very clever to Sydney, who couldn't think of anyone better to watch her back than Mommy, unless, perhaps, it was Mommy and Daddy both. They were the strongest, bravest people she knew, and even though that's how it was at that age for all little girls, for Sydney things would never change.

Now, though, Mommy was crying, and Daddy was telling her that everything would be fine, she would see.

"But Jack, you don't understand," she said desperately as she raised her face to his. "What I've done - everything I've told you - you're bound to report it, of course, now that you know, and-"

"Laura, don't be an idiot," he interrupted. "I would never in a million years subject you to- to anything like what they would put you through if they found this out."

"No, Jack! You don't _have_ to. What I'm trying to tell you is this: I think - I'm not _sure_, but I'm fairly positive - that I'm already under investigation."

There was a momentary silence, and then Jack drew his wife down the hall, into the den, firmly shutting the door behind them.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent.

"I-" she took a deep breath to steady herself, then spoke carefully and rather calmly.

"This morning, I noticed we were almost out of milk, so I went to the store to pick some up. As I was driving, I thought I noticed a tail, so on the way home I picked him out again and tested him. He was definitely following me, Jack, and I don't think it was because he wanted to ask me the name of my stylist."

"He couldn't have just been an ordinary creep?" Jack asked, and Laura wondered if vaguely if all husbands would have sounded so hopeful.

"No, Jack, I'm almost positive he was CIA. And if I'm under investigation, then the truth will eventually come out. And, once they've exposed me, they'll investigate you, too, and maybe they'll learn that you- that I told you. It would be best, I think, if I came clean and-"

"Laura, do you know what you're saying?!" Jack hissed, panic written all over his face. "I'd have a better chance of seeing you again if you went back to Russia! If you turn yourself in, you'll be arrested, and with the way the feelings toward Soviets are running now, they would detain you for years at least. You'd be tried for treason, and maybe even-"

"No!" Laura finally managed to interrupt. "No, I can get around that- that possibility. I can," she added wryly, "talk my way out of almost anything."

"The CIA isn't going to give you a parking ticket, Laura!" Jack groaned. "They're more likely to put you away for life without parole- _if_ they don't give you the chair."

"Jack!" Laura gave a little scream of horror. "Don't!"

"But Laura, you can't honestly think that I won't do everything in my power to keep you from going into something like that."

"No, Jack, of course not. But I can trade with them- I'll give information, if they want it. Anything they want to know about the KGB I can give to them, in exchange for my full pardon."

"Laura, I don't know-"

"Maybe not, Jack, but I do. If I don't take this chance then there is a very good one I'll end up in custody anyway, either here or back in Russia."

Jack shook his head, dazed.

"Laura, this is- well first of all, it's completely stupid. And you- you're not a stupid woman, so I can't pretend to understand why you want to do this. But then, I guess I can't really pretend I understand any of this right now."

His smile was oddly apologetic as he explained,

"It's a lot to deal with. I mean, first the - the disclosure you made to me last night, and now- now this? It just seems- well, it's an awful lot to take in over such a short period of time. I don't even know what to think, or- or- anything."

He gripped her arms in his hands as he finished,

"The only thing I'm sure of, Laura, is that I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you, either, Jack," she promised him earnestly. "Either of you. That's why I didn't just go back to Russia. This is the one good thing I've done in my life, Jack- this family. The two of you are everything to me, and if I thought that there could be any other way at all, I would take it in a heartbeat, Jack, I swear I would."

He nodded, his shoulders slumped and his whole expression that of a beaten man.

He knew she was right, of course- nine times out of ten, she was. But just because he knew it, didn't mean he had to like it.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_I know, I know, it was really short, and I'm sorry, but this was already written out on paper, and for some reason it looks so much longer on looseleaf! The chapter will be a lot longer, though, I promise._

_Thanks again, everybody, for your wonderful reviews- I think that even non-specific comments that just let me know how much you're enjoying it are helpful, because they encourage me to keep going. Please don't stop now! There's plenty more to come._


	4. Chapter Four

_Here is chapter four! It, too, is rather short, and I apologise for that, but one of the perks of such short chapters is that updates will therefore be that much more frequent!_

0O0O0O0O0O0

Jack shook his head, dazed.

"Laura, this is- well first of all, it's completely stupid. And you- you're not a stupid woman, so I can't pretend to understand why you want to do this. But then, I guess I can't really pretend I understand any of this right now."

His smile was oddly apologetic as he explained,

"It's a lot to deal with. I mean, first the - the disclosure you made to me last night, and now- now this? It just seems- well, it's an awful lot to take in over such a short period of time. I don't even know what to think, or- or- anything."

He gripped her arms in his hands as he finished,

"The only thing I'm sure of, Laura, is that I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you, either, Jack," she promised him earnestly. "Either of you. That's why I didn't just go back to Russia. This is the one good thing I've done in my life, Jack- this family. The two of you are everything to me, and if I thought that there could be any other way at all, I would take it in a heartbeat, Jack, I swear I would."

He nodded, his shoulders slumped and his whole expression that of a beaten man.

He knew she was right, of course- nine times out of ten, she was. But just because he knew it, didn't mean he had to like it.

It took Laura the majority of the day to draft a rough copy of her statement, and once she had done that she had such a nasty case of writer's cramp that she decided her rough copy was good enough to suffice as the only copy. So, with a few minor alterations, it was signed, sealed, stamped 'Urgent' and dropped off at the front desk of the LA branch of the CIA field office.

"How long," Laura wondered as she and Jack tucked Sydney into bed that night, "do you think it will be?"

"Not long," Jack frowned, his eyes troubled as they followed his wife's every movement.

She kissed their daughter's forehead, and Sydney's eyelids barely fluttered at the attention. She was worn out, because in order to give Laura space to write out her statement, Jack had taken Sydney to the park, and the two had played tag until they were both of them ready to drop.

"Fine," Laura sighed, first smoothing hair back from Sydney's brow and then from her own, "Let's go to bed, then, and get some rest while we still can."

Neither of them could possibly have known at the time how much they would be getting from those few hours' sleep, or how long it would be after they got up until they had more, but perhaps it was just as well. As it was, Laura would have trouble sleeping for years without worrying about hearing a knock on the door, and there are those who would say Jack still does.

Small wonder, really. The businesslike rapping that sounded throughout the apartment woke both Jack and Laura at the same time, and cut through their hearts to permanently engrave itself on their memories.

"Jack?" The look she gave her husband was an apprehensive one, but he managed to hide his own worry, and, in doing so, somewhat assuaged hers.

"Well," he said quietly, "let's go face the music."

Laura put a bathrobe on, but didn't get completely dressed. If it was the CIA at the door - and who else could it be at half fast five in the morning? - and they seemed anything but receptive to the idea of an exchange of information for immunity, she could excuse herself to get dressed, and make her escape down the creeper ivy outside their bedroom window.

Because of his wife's only semi-decent state, Jack elected to be the party who actually opened the door. On the other side there stood two grim-looking men and a stony-faced woman, all three of them in suits. Laura unconsciously reached for Jack's hand, and he gripped hers reassuringly.

"Yes?" he asked coldly, and the man in front spoke.

"Agent Jonathan Bristow, CIA?"

"Yes."

"Agents Parker and Donald, and Ms. Travis. We are here regarding the statement which was delivered by Mrs. Bristow to our headquarters yesterday."

It was on the tip of Laura's tongue to deny doing any such thing, but instead she asked carefully,

"Yes? And?"

"In light of the content of the manuscript, we at the CIA have become concerned for the welfare of the persons in your household. As Agent Bristow is an adult, we can only counsel him to proceed in all matters related thereto with extreme caution. But, as he sees nothing wrong with remaining under the same roof as a confessed enemy of the United States, we feel it is our duty to protect any minors who might be under your collective influence."

As he spoke, Ms. Travis had slipped past him and the Bristows. Now both of them understood why, and with a scream of horror, Laura bolted after her.

Agent Parker rushed after Laura, and forcibly restrained her- for an approximate total of point five seconds.

Ms. Travis disappeared into Sydney's bedroom before she was able to see Laura break free of Agent Parker's grip and slam him up against the wall.

"Do not _touch_ my child!" she shrieked, her eyes wild. "Do you hear me?! You are risking your _life_!"

"Laura!" Jack shouted. "Laura, no!"

"They can take me before they take her, Jack," Laura promised grimly, and Agent Donald attempted to intervene.

"We aren't taking her _forever_, Mrs. Bristow. Simply until we can ascertain that you were telling the truth when you claimed that your loyalties had shifted. You and Mr. Bristow can visit her, naturally. It's just that we thought it prudent to somehow ensure your compliance in all matters."

Laura turned on him slowly, disbelief written all over her face.

"Are you telling me," she began numbly, "that the United States Government - such as it were - is holding a six-year-old _hostage_? For _this_ I spend one week annually slaving over taxes on an income that isn't even _mine_?! I really, _really_ didn't need to know that."

"Laura," Jack said softly, "if you kill them, we'd have to run, and they'd track us down in no time and take her for good."

The rational tone in which he spoke these words might have unnerved the agents somewhat, but they hid it well.

Laura stood still for a long time before her shoulders slumped, and she looked down the hall to where Ms. Travis had reappeared, a bewildered Sydney held in her arms.

"May I hold her?" she whispered, and Ms. Travis nodded, so Laura stepped forward, and took the warm little body in her arms, holding her close.

"Mommy?" Sydney whimpered, and Laura felt her heart break.

"Shh, Sweetheart, it's all right. You have to go with these people for a while, and then come back to Mommy and Daddy, okay? And we expect you to be a big girl while you're gone. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, Mommy. But can't you come with me?"

"No, Mommy has to take care of Daddy."

"Then who will take care of _me_?" Sydney asked, eyes wide and tear-filled, her trembling lower lip reminding Laura to bite down hard on her own.

"Mommy will," she promised fiercely. "And don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Mommy will always take care of you."

Sydney looked back steadily at her, and nodded in a manner far more grown-up than she.

"All right, Mommy," she agreed, "I know you will."

Then she kissed both of her mother's cheeks, and put her little hand up to touch a tear hiding in the corner of the deep chocolate eyes.

"Don't cry, Mommy," she advised, "I love you."

Laura nearly broke down. She had to pass Sydney to Jack, or else she might have dropped her altogether, and then watched the exchange between father and daughter that ensued.

"Hello, my beautiful girl," Jack said huskily, and Sydney's expression as she answered him was as grave as her father's own.

"Hello, Daddy."

"Will you be a big girl?" he wondered. "When Mommy and Daddy come to visit you, will you tell us everything you've been doing? You'll have to pay careful attention, won't you, to everything that's going on, so you can tell us all about it. Can you do that, precious girl?"

"Yes, Daddy," she promised solemnly. She got the distinct feeling that if she weren't very brave and grown up right now, Mommy and Daddy would break right down, so she had to be as strong as she could, even terrified and bewildered as she was.

"That's my girl," he approved, then pulled her to him and held her as if he would never let her go.

"My number," Agent Parker said quietly, passing it to Jack as Ms. Travis finally took Sydney from him and carried her out the door, and Laura ran to gather a few of her daughter's favourite things to put in a bag to send with her, so she would have something familiar.

"Call it," Parker went on, "and we can set up times for you to meet with Sydney."

"Look," Jack said after he had accepted the card, "I need to know something. How long, really, do you think this could take to clear up? I mean- how long until we can have her back?"

The other man hesitated, obviously unwilling to commit himself to a time frame, but there was something dangerously desperate about the glint in Jack's eye that went a long way towards convincing him to answer.

"I honestly can't tell you for sure. You could get a good lawyer, maybe; pull some strings and call in some favors; maybe have her back in a month or two, but it's more likely going to take upwards if a- a year."

Jack knew at that moment that he must at all costs hide how that affected him. Otherwise, they would never in a million years let him and Laura see Sydney, and find out where she was being kept.

"I see," Jack said, his throat constricting around the words. And he did see. All too well did he see what would have to be done.

Agent Parker's face, meantime, actually twisted in sympathy, and he put his hand briefly on the other man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry to have to do this to you," he said, his voice low. "I am. I have two sons of my own, and if anyone ever- well, I am very sorry."

Jack shook his head.

"No, you aren't. If you were sorry, you wouldn't be doing this."

He looked at him, suddenly feeling very much older as he said,

"Now get out, before I throw you out."

Then he walked down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with Laura, shut the door, and remained there in utter silence, standing just inside the door without so much as moving for over an hour, until Laura found him, and made him come out again.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_Yes, I know, it's rather short. But there's plenty more where this came from, so don't worry that the shorter chapters mean I'm running out of ideas- I'm just writing them down in smaller chunks! And I expect that the chapters will lengthen as the story progresses- for now, though, they'll probably stay like this._

_Let me know what you thought of this one! Please!_


	5. Chapter Five

_Chapter five, following close on the heels of chapter four! I really like this short chapter thing- too bad it's going to stop here. This one will be more my usual length, but I hope nobody minds._

0O0O0O0O0O0

"What are we going to do, Jack?" Laura asked.

He did not even challenge her assumption that they were going to do anything. Their child - the one good, honest thing that either of them had ever done - had been taken from them. Of course they were going to do something about it. The only questions were, what were they going to do, and when were they going to do it?

Jack came up with the answer to the first very quickly.

"We're going to go get her," he said simply. "We'll arrange a meeting with her, see where she's being kept, and we'll get her."

"But when, Jack?" Laura pressed. "If I'm not on a trans-Atlantic flight to Russia in less than three days' time, I'll be put on the KGB hit list, and that's almost worse than being dead. We can't sit around planning this. If we actually want to do this, we have to do it now."

"Laura, we can't just call them right now and ask to see her."

"Why not?" Laura demanded. "I'm her mother! I am very nearly hysterical right now! What could be more natural than you calling them, and asking for some time with our daughter this evening so we can reassure ourselves that she is at least being taken care of?"

Jack pondered this.

"And you're thinking we'll get her tonight?"

"Yes," Laura nodded. "Why wouldn't we, once we know where she is?"

"Security around her will probably be especially tight on the first night," Jack pointed out, but Laura brushed away tight security with and impatient flick of the wrist.

"We can handle that easily, Jack," she frowned. "You know that you can, and I know that both of us can, so I do assure you, Jack, we are both more than equal to the task. This is our _daughter_, Jack. Our little _girl_. I'll run away now, Jack. Now that I know what talking and negotiating would cost us, I will run. But I'm not going without her."

"No, Sweetheart, of course not," Jack murmured, putting his arms out for his wife to creep into, "of course not. We'll get her back, Laura. We'll get her back tonight. I promise."

0O0O0O0O0O0

Jack, when he dialed Agent Parker's number, was slightly surprised at how easy it was to schedule some time with Sydney at six o'clock that night, but he wasn't about to complain. Instead, we went to tell Laura, who was busy packing some things for all three of them. When she heard, she nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. Now, Jack, do you know where the tent is?"

"The tent?" he blinked, and she nodded impatiently.

"Yes, Jack, then tent. The big green and white canvas thing that you set up on ground with a ninety percent concentration of hard, sharp rocks, and in which you sleep on foam pads that do not cushion you in sleeping bags that do not keep you warm. A tent."

"Yes, Laura, I'm familiar with the concept. But why do you want the tent? You hate camping."

"With a vengeance, Jack, yes, I do. But mid-September is when everybody down here starts trying to squeeze in one last weekend over which to use the darn things before winter sets in, so it would be one of the most anonymous ways to travel. Also, when they do an inventory of what's missing from the apartment, they won't think of the tent, since it was a gift, and we never used it anyway."

"But who gave it to us?" Jack asked cautiously.

"The Webbers," Laura said smugly. "And now she's dead, and he has Alzheimer's, so even if they tracked him to that nursing home in Minnesota, he wouldn't even remember who we are."

"Fine," Jack sighed. "I think that the tent is in the basement, in our storage space. Do you want me to go get it?"

"If you would, Dear," Laura nodded primly, so Jack went to her jewelry box and scanned the carefully-ordered rows of rings, necklaces, earrings, brooches and bracelets until he had located the key to the padlock on their storage space.

He had to use the outside entrance to get into the basement, and as he neglected the bricked path in favour of cutting directly across the green lawn, he noticed how warm it was, especially for mid-September, and realised that Laura was right. Few people, if any, would question the legitimacy of a family camping trip. If only Laura didn't tell each and every person they met how passionately she loathed camping . . .

Jack was smiling to himself when he entered the basement, and located their own chain link cage towards the back. It took him only a moments to undo the padlock holding it shut and swing the door open, but considerably longer to locate the unopened box with the tent stenciled on the side. Once he had, he also unearthed sleeping bags and foam mattresses, and, with a great effort, piled them on top of each other before gathering them up in his arms, and making his way back outside.

Closing the door was no easy task, but getting back inside the apartment building without breaking his neck was the worst. He nearly put his foot in the tidy flowerbeds more than once, and by the time he wrestled the outer door open and made it up the stairs to their door, he was sweating profusely.

Because he couldn't maintain his grip on his mountain of equipment and open the apartment door at the same time, he had to kick on the door to attract Laura's attention. It took her quite a while to come to the door - it seemed like forever to him - and when she finally did arrive, and found herself face-to-face with a mountain of camping gear, despite the gravity of the situation which necessitated its use she couldn't help but laugh.

"Jack, my word, you look like a pack mule! Here, dear, let me take those."

So saying, she easily lifted the majority of the pile from his arms, and, leaving him with only two sleeping bags and a foam mattress, carried it into the apartment.

"When will we get her?" Jack wanted to know, watching as Laura carefully assembled the gear in the front hall.

"I think one o'clock would be best. Tomorrow is a weekday, so they should all be in bed by then. It will also give us plenty of time on the road."

"You expect us to drive all night?" Jack asked skeptically.

"I expect that _I_ will drive all night," Laura corrected him. "You will sleep, and we can switch around six or seven in the morning. Then you can drive for the day, and we'll find a campground late afternoon or early evening. How does that sound?"

Jack smiled at the earnest expression on her face.

"It sounds fine, Laura. You've really got it all worked out, haven't you? We'll load the car after dark, I suppose?"

"Yes," Laura nodded. "We might have to put out the lights in the parking garage as well- I want to be sure that none of the neighbors see us. If they did, they might notice us packing the tent, and they could tell the FBI that we might be camping, and then they could track us, and take her- and- and-"

She broke off, trembling, and Jack promptly took her in his arms, holding her until she grew still.

"It's all right, Love," he murmured into her hair. "It's really all right. We're going to get her, remember? We're going to get her back, and we'll stay away until we get this all cleared up and can come back home."

"But Jack, even if we get it cleared up with the CIA, we can't come back," Laura pointed out. "Not here, anyway. My people-" she broke off, and shook her head to negate the title. "The KGB," she corrected herself, "are going to make sure of that. When I don't get on that plane, they'll make sure that I don't ever come back here. They'll make sure that I can't."

Jack looked down into her eyes, and the combination of fear and her acceptance of it that he saw in them made him suddenly angry.

"If I could somehow take care of them," he said, his voice low, "and make it so they would never bother you again, I would do it, Laura. In a second, I would do it."

Laura nodded, biting her lip, her eyes bright.

"Yes, Jack, I know you would. But right now, let's just go get our daughter back, and that will be enough for me."

Jack nodded, and glanced at the pile of luggage.

"We'll load that as soon as it gets dark, all right?"

Laura nodded.

"Yeah. All right. And- how much longer until we visit Sydney?"

Jack didn't even have to check his watch. He'd been counting down the seconds in his head ever since he'd first heard.

"Seven hours, fifty-eight minutes, thirty-six seconds and counting."

Laura winced. It was going to be a long day.

0O0O0O0O0O0

They were able to pass a great deal of time by going through the apartment and gathering all the cash and small valuables they could find. Anything compact with a resale value went into pillow cases, and anything they really couldn't live without that Laura hadn't already packed was added to their collection of luggage.

"We don't want to pack too much," Laura mused, once they had set down the second pillowcase. "If we have to abandon the car, it would be nice if we could bring everything with us. We won't be able to if we fill it to bursting."

Jack nodded, sneaking a rather amazed glance at his wife out of the corner of his eye. This was a side of her he had never seen before- a side he had never known existed. A calculating, level-headed, largely unemotional side. Except for that one quick breakdown a few seconds ago, ever since Sydney had been taken she had been the very model of composure. It reminded Jack so much of how he himself handled crisis situations that it rather scared him. Because he tended to become somewhat violent during crisis situations . . .

"Is this enough, then, do you think?" he wondered, and Laura studied the assembled collection judiciously.

"I'd like to pack a cooler, of course," she mused, "but we'll have to leave enough food behind to suggest that we will be eating out, rather than over a campfire. Otherwise- yes, I think that this is enough."

Jack nodded,

"Fine. Let's pack a cooler, then, and- have you any idea of where we'll be staying? I mean, do you think we should go North, or East, or even both? Or do you even care?"

"Well," Laura mused, "as it's mid-September, it will be getting rather cool up North. I think we'd be best to stick to the south, so- how does Louisiana sound? It's reasonably touristy, so we wouldn't attract much attention. I would say Florida, but I've never much cared for Florida, so New Orleans seems a viable option."

Jack, who had never much cared for Florida either, but had always enjoyed Cajun foods, agreed that New Orleans seemed like something feasible.

"But do they even _have_ campgrounds in New Orleans?" he wondered dubiously. "I've only ever heard of expensive old hotels."

"Oh, they must," Laura shrugged. "If not, we'll set up camp in a state park, or something, but I really do think we'll find they have a campground or two- it's the nature of the beast."

Jack nodded, willing to accept on faith his wife's most rudimentary assumption.

"Fine, then. Let's pack the cooler now, and then- well, we'll manage to find something to do, I think, to pass the time."

They did, surprisingly enough. Once they had painstakingly filled the cooler with the least that would last the longest, Jack tentatively suggested an activity that would help them both let off a little steam. That was how they came to push aside the living room furniture, roll back the rug, and test each other's fighting skills.

They were surprisingly good.

Jack had always known that Laura had good reflexes, and he had, from time to time, seen the ripple of well-toned, for the most part carefully concealed, muscles in her arms and legs. He had never before, however, seen the result of the combination of these, and even now, had he blinked, he might very well have missed it.

She was faster than any adversary he'd had before, and took full advantage of his tendency to attack directly, zipping around behind him to attack the backs of his legs with deadly accuracy every time he lunged for her. He would, from time to time, manage to land a glancing blow, but nothing close to damaging, and if he hadn't been such a dangerous opponent to approach, Laura could probably have taken him out in a matter of seconds.

As it was, though, she was prudent enough to know that actually attempting a direct assault on her husband would deliver much the same result as would charging an oncoming battalion of tanks armed with nothing more than a BB gun. Such a course of action, to put a fine point on it, would not have been smart, and Laura was nothing if not smart.

So, since neither could really defeat the other, the match wore on into the evening. Before they knew it, the clock was striking five, and they had only an hour in which to make themselves presentable and locate the building where Sydney was being kept.

By mutual consent they ended the contest, admiration evident in both pairs of eyes as they went to shower and change.

They purposely selected bright clothing, as much in an effort to cheer Sydney as to appear, to any officials who might be on the lookout for such things, as the last people in the world who would break into a safe house in the dead of the night to steal their child back.

It may or may not have worked, but both knew that details could often make or break a cover story, so any help at all was directly to their advantage.

That was why, at twenty to six, Jack and Laura left their apartment dressed so cheerfully that one might honestly have mistaken them for a pair of kindergarten teachers.

"Do you think we overdid it?" Jack wondered, peeking in the rearview mirror at his sky blue shirt as he maneuvered out of the parking garage. "I mean, maybe they'll notice that I'm not, exactly, the sky blue _type_."

"Not once they see _me_, they won't," Laura sniffed, tugging at a fold in the skirt of her buttercup yellow dress. "I look so terrible in yellow, nobody would _ever_ believe that I put it on without ulterior motives."

"I've told you before," Jack sighed, "you look quite lovely in yellow."

"And _I've_ told _you_ before," Laura frowned, "you need to get your eyes checked."

Jack rolled his eyes, but didn't argue back, and shortly thereafter they pulled up in front of an office building whose address corresponded with the one given to Jack by Agent Parker.

"She's living in an _insurance_ company?" Laura shrieked. "And how, may I ask, is this better for her than living with us?"

"Well," Jack said, eyeing the building with mistrust as they disembarked form the car, "I suppose it's run by Americans."

"Jack, I was mugged by an American once!" Laura returned, frowning. "I would much rather my child be raised by loving foreigners with good moral standards myself, though naturally I can't speak for you."

"Of course you can speak for me," Jack reassured her. "But dear, when were you mugged? I don't remember that."

"Well, no," Laura admitted, "because we came to a sort of mutual agreement, the mugger and I. He wouldn't tell anybody it had happened, and I would stop hurting him."

Jack pondered this.

"That seems fair."

Laura nodded briskly.

"Uh-huh, he thought so, too. Now, shall we go in?"

0O0O0O0O0O0

Inside, the woman the desk took their name, checked it against a list, and waved them over to an elevator with instructions to take it to the tenth floor.

"The tenth floor?" Laura fretted as they rode towards it. "I hope there are a lot of fire escapes. That's awfully high up."

"Well," Jack said pointedly, "I'm sure she'll be fine."

Laura nodded, relaxing visibly as she remembered that Sydney was not even going to spend the whole night, so fire escapes didn't really matter that much.

When the elevator stopped at the tenth, and the doors slid open, they were met by a woman in a suit with a tiny, stiff smile on her face that gave the impression of great disuse.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bristow?" she verified in accents as stiff as her smile, "If you would follow me, please?"

They did, and she led them to one of many doors set in the wall running the length of the hallway. When she opened it, they barely had time to notice that it was a bright, airy room, furnished rather like a kindergarten classroom, before they saw her.

Sydney.

Listlessly poking through a plastic bin filled with brightly-coloured, educational toys, looking utterly bored.

"My baby," Laura gasped, and, hearing her, Sydney's head snapped around. As soon as she saw her parents, a blazing smile swept across her face, and she tore across the room toward them, Jack and Laura meeting her halfway.

They swept her up into their collective embrace as Sydney started to cry from relief at seeing them again, and they each kissed the cheek closest to them with unrivaled fervor.

"I missed you!" Sydney proclaimed. "I wasn't even here a whole day, they said, but I missed you anyway. It was like a big hurt, Mommy- right here."

She thumped her chest soundly, and Laura's little answering gasp was half of pity, half of relief at being able to put her arms around her child again, and hold her as if she'd never let go.

"I told them, Daddy," Sydney went on, "that they had better let me go home soon, or else I'd call you, and you would come and beat them all up. And you would, wouldn't you, Daddy?"

"To get you back? In a heartbeat," Jack promised her, and a brilliant smile swept across her face.

"I knew you would. And do you know what else?" she dropped her voice.

"What, darling?" Laura whispered back.

"There's _people_ back there." She pointed one little finger at the mirror set in the far wall.

"How do you know that, Sydney?" Jack wondered, and she shrugged.

"Because the mirror is too high up for kids, and this room isn't for grown-ups, so it can't be really for looking into. And I saw on TV where people looked out from behind a mirror to watch other people, so I think that's why that mirror is there. Should we wave to them?"

"I don't think so, sweetie," Laura decided. "Not yet, anyway. Why don't you tell us what you've done today?"

Sydney's eyes dropped.

"I cried," she admitted softly. "Not much, I promise. But I still had to cry a bit. Because I was scared. I'm sorry, Daddy," she added. "I know I told you that I'd be a big girl, but-"

"Oh, no, Sydney," he reassured her even before she could finish. "I meant for you to be strong- not that you couldn't cry. Sometimes, it takes a very strong person to be able to cry. I know that you're a very big girl- one of the strongest girls I know."

"And Mommy's the other one, right?" Sydney's eyes sparkled, and Laura laughed in delight as Jack, his face poker-straight, nodded with all gravity.

"That's exactly right, Sydney. That's exactly right. You and Mommy are the very strongest, bravest, most beautiful girls I know."

"Then you'll be able to get me out of here, right?" Sydney asked hopefully, and both parents felt their hearts breaking as she spoke the words, full of such simple, childlike faith that Laura wished desperately she had but the means with which to destroy each and every one of the people who threatened to tear her little family apart.

"As soon as we can, Sweetheart," she at last managed to promise truthfully. "As soon as we can get you out, we will, okay?"

"All right," Sydney nodded, and the sudden note of excitement in her voice could be explained by a memory she had of some months previously when, upon arriving home from a barbecue, the Bristows had found that they had locked themselves out of their apartment. Rather than wake the super, Jack had scaled the ivy outside of his and Laura's bedroom window, and let them in.

If he could do that, then Sydney saw no reason why he wouldn't be able to get her out also. Mommy, too- Sydney had walked in on her more than once when she was using Daddy's exercise equipment. Mommy, Sydney knew, was almost as strong as Daddy, though Daddy wasn't supposed to know that.

Still, she knew that the building she was in was a big one, and that she wasn't going to be sleeping in this room.

"You should see my bedroom!" she told them, abruptly switching the subject. "It's really tiny- I don't like it at all. I miss my room at home. This one's on a big floor, like this one, only right above us. You should see it. Can we go see it?"

"Oh, sweetie, I don't think so," Laura said, a gleam of understanding lighting her eyes. "Why don't you just tell us about it? Do you have a nice, big window like you do at home?"

"Yeah, one whole wall is a window. I get scared I'm going to fall out, and I want to be home."

She said this last with a belligerent glare aimed toward the mirror in the wall, and Jack and Laura both had to smother grins. That was their little girl, all right.

"But you aren't afraid of heights, Sydney," Jack pointed out.

"No," Sydney agreed, "but I'm 'fraid of the zoo, and I can see it out my window really clear. I get scared the peacocks are gonna fly away and scream at me. You'll protect me, though, right, Mommy?""

Laura bit her lip, but tears sprang to her eyes nonetheless.

"Oh, Sweetie, of course I will! No peacocks can take you away from me. Nobody can take you away from me. I love you too much."

"You and Daddy both, right?" Sydney verified, and Laura nodded.

"Yes, Sweetheart, Daddy and me both. Now, why don't we talk about something else? Is that a jump rope over there? Do you want to play mountain climbing with Daddy and me?"

Sydney was amenable to that, so Laura rigged up a child-size harness from the rope, fit it around Sydney's hips, and positioned her at Jack's feet. Then she took hold of the end that first fit behind Jack's neck, and, at Sydney's nod, slowly and steadily pulled as Sydney easily scaled her "wall", giggling the whole way. How many little girls, she wondered, could use their daddies as mountains? Not many, she was sure. Hers was unique.

After the mountain climber grew tired of the game, she invited her spotter and her mountain to tea. They sat at a tiny table (Jack elected to seat himself on the floor, since an ominous creaking had been elicited from the tiny chair he had first entrusted his weight to) and Sydney hostessed. They sipped make-believe tea from tiny china cups (again Jack encountered difficulty, finding it necessary to cradle the little scrap of glazed pottery in his palm since his thumb and forefinger were too big to properly pinch the itty-bitty handle) and pretended that everything was as normal as could be.

Difficult though it was, nothing compared to how hard they found it to actually leave. Sydney, despite her best efforts at being grown-up, nevertheless burst into tears and clung to her father's leg like a little limpet. Laura collapsed, sobbing, on the ground beside her, and it was all Jack could do not to break down himself, so there was no way he could get himself free.

In the end a man in a suit (presumably one of Sydney's mirror-people) came in to try to pry her off. When he was unable to do so he summoned another man to help him. They did get her off, but she managed to inflict a notable amount of damage that hampered their progress considerably, biting, kicking and scratching for all she was worth.

"Leggo!" she howled, landing quite a nasty punch dangerously close to an unprotected eye, "I want my _Mommy!_"

Laura was in no condition to respond. Jack had to help her up off the floor as Sydney was dragged from the room and barely managed to shout a promise to their daughter that they would see her soon.

Then she was gone, leaving Jack unable to break down himself, or else Laura would have had nobody to support her. He smoothed her hair, kissed tear-streaked cheeks, and bent his head to speak softly to her.

"Come on, Laura. Let's go home."

0O0O0O0O0O0

_You liked? You didn't like? You have mixed feelings? You wonder what I think I'm doing even getting within a mile of a keyboard? Let me know! It doesn't have to be gushing praise- I'm an adult, I can handle helpful criticism! If you keep it constructive, I would love to hear from you._


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter six might be a little shorter, because that's just how these things work out sometimes, but a fair amount happens in it, so I hope that's a fair trade-off. Let me know what you think!_

0O0O0O0O0O0

Home, though, wasn't. Not really. Not without Sydney there.

The Bristows were so depressed that they stayed only long enough to change out of their "happy clothes" before they had to leave again.

They went on foot, hand in hand, utterly without aim. Their only desire was to get away from the apartment where their daughter should have been, but wasn't, and by her very absence made it a terribly depressing place to be.

They actually ended up outside the zoo, though how they got there neither one was sure. Jack looked at the gates, and then glanced down at his wife.

"Want a Slush-O?"

Laura considered.

"Sure. Let's get a Slush-O."

They bought a Slush-O, and shared it. As they did, Laura's eyes roamed over the skyline until they came to rest on a particular building.

"There. That's where she is."

"Which window is hers?" Jack wondered, and in spite of herself, Laura gave him a look that was half one of amusement, and half one of mild irritation.

"Now, how would I know that?! Her bedroom in on the eleventh floor, from what she said today we can infer that her room is more or less directly above the one we were in today, and it faces in this direction. We don't know anything else."

"Yes, we do," Jack corrected. "We know it's right across the street from the letter 'B' on the sign for the mutual bank- I saw it out the window today."

"Well, that just makes it easier, then," Laura said, then peeked down at her Slush-O. "Huh. It's melting."

"Oh, that's the best part," Jack reassured her. "Now you can slurp it right through the straw, see? You don't have to use the spoon anymore."

Laura gave an experimental slurp.

"I see," she said, tone expressing mild appreciation.

Jack took a slurp of it himself, then checked his watch.

"It's almost nine o'clock. Should we head back?"

"Yes," Laura stood, her hands brushing nervously at her jeans, "yes, let's- let's head back. It will be dark, soon."

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that, as darkness fell, they could load the car and prepare to go get Sydney.

But surely, Jack thought, as they walked home, surely it had never taken darkness so long to come as it was taking tonight. It was pure torture to see the sun hover pensively on the horizon, taking its sweet time about finally disappearing completely from view, and it seemed as if the stars were deliberately taunting them by staying hidden as long as they possibly could before finally appearing to dot the sky.

Once Jack and Laura had double-checked that they had enough of everything to last them to Louisiana, they stationed themselves at the window, neither of them about to so much as consider leaving their posts until the sky was painted a rich, blue-black.

As they waited, though, they ran through a checklist of sorts.

"Rappelling gear?"

"Yes."

"Glass cutters?"

"Yes."

"Aerosol can?"

"Yes."

"Flashlight?"

"Yes."

"Should we change soon?"

"Soon, yes."

Soon didn't happen as soon as they would have liked, but it came soon enough, and found them calmly shedding their street clothes in exchange for light, black outfits.

When they were done, Jack couldn't help but shoot an admiring glance at his wife, who was skinning her hair back into an uncompromising knot at the back of her head. This was a whole new side to her- one he had never known existed. Yet, strange to him as it was, he had to admit that he rather liked it. It made her seem more approachable now that they were on equal footing with each other.

"Do you need bobby pins?" he wondered, and she gave him a tiny smile as she shook her head.

"No, they have a tendency to fall out when it's least convenient. All I need is a pair of good elastics."

"A pair?" he queried, and she nodded.

"One for my hair, and one for backup in case the first snaps."

He shook his head at this new piece of information, as well as at the thought of all the potential knowledge there was for him to obtain. He could talk with Laura, he realised suddenly, about almost anything now, and she would actually understand him. They were both spies- the same breed of people, able to speak the same language, and discuss the same topics with complete comprehension. More than it had ever been before, theirs would now truly be a marriage of equals. He found himself looking forward to it.

For the present, though, they had a job to do.

Jack loaded his gun, took all spare ammunition clips, and packed it all neatly in a little steel chest with a combination lock built right into it- a miniature, portable safe.

Laura surprised him somewhat by producing a dainty little .38 special that she had hidden in a pair of socks stuffed in a box spring under their mattress. Then she startled him further by retrieving ammunition she had secreted in the far corner of the top shelf of their closet, behind the box that held her wedding veil.

"How long have you had all that?" Jack asked, puzzled.

Laura shrugged.

"Ever since I came over from Russia."

Jack shook his head, amazed.

"And you think you know a person."

Laura's smile was slightly sad.

"Never think that, Jack. Nine times out of ten, it will turn out that you're wrong."

She loaded her gun, and pocketed the rest of the ammo.

"Well, let's move out."

It was a simple matter to disable the security cameras in the parking garage before moving all of their luggage out to the car, where Laura oversaw the packing.

Then they went back to the apartment to make sure they had not missed anything, and Laura scribbled a quick note, which she stuck to the fridge. Then they left the apartment they had called home for so long, closing the door on nearly four years' worth of memories, and locking it tight behind them.

0O0O0O0O0O0

The downtown area was perhaps, on the whole, better lit that either Jack or Laura would have preferred, but the business district was not quite so bad, so they kept their complaints to a minimum.

"How are you planning on getting to the roof?" Laura queried of her husband, and he answered her by producing a sort of spring-trigger crossbow, which he loaded it with a grappling hook that had a rope tied to it.

"Very clever," Laura purred approvingly, then watched as Jack took careful aim at a section of the roof, and squeezed off a shot.

The hook arced cleanly into the air, coming down with a distant clank in exactly the right location.

Jack nodded, satisfied, and Laura smiled briefly before she set about fastening her climbing harness to her hips, and Jack tested the strength of the doubled-over rope that hung from the roof of the building, a full twenty stories above them.

"All set?" he queried of her, and she nodded briskly.

"Set. And you?"

"Yes. Come here."

She obeyed, letting him hook her to one half of the rope before gripping the other, and giving an experimental tug.

"Will it hold us both?" she wondered, and he nodded.

"Both of you. You have the cutters? And the can?"

She tapped her utility belt in confirmation, then moved into position, ten floors directly below the window that was Sydney's.

Jack hoisted her about two feet off the ground, and then tied his end of the rope securely about his own waist before pulling her up farther.

It was a steady, if somewhat slow going, process. Jack didn't want to pull Laura up too quickly, in case the grappling hook was not anchored as securely as they though. He pulled her up, though, as quickly as he could, and not until Laura reached her goal did he even consider halting her progress.

Once his wife reached the window, Jack had to hold her steady long enough for her to cut a human-sized hole in the glass, and climb through.

Laura took her time when cutting- she had to get this done as quickly as possible, and every mistake she made here would mean extra time taken to correct it. Finally, though, she had the glass freed, and used the aerosol can in her belt to check for infrared beams inside the window. There were none, so, feeling righteously indignant that more stringent precautions had not been employed to protect her daughter, she climbed inside, and laid the piece of window on the floor before looking around.

The room was plain and not overly roomy, but at least it seemed clean and comfortable. At one point, Laura guessed, it must have been an office for a low-level executive. Now, though, it held a bureau and a bed- a bed in which lay a still little form that was painfully familiar.

Laura crossed the room in two strides and bent over the tiny body, everything in her posture saying "mother."

"Sydney?" she whispered, touching the soft little face with a trembling hand, "Sweetheart, wake up. It's Mommy."

Sydney stirred, blinked, then smiled sleepily up at her mother, reaching up to touch her face.

"Hi, Mommy," she murmured. "I knew you'd come."

"That's because you're such a clever girl," Laura said, smiling tenderly down at her daughter. "Now you need to get up, because Daddy is waiting for us."

Sydney nodded, reaching up to Laura, who scooped her up in her arms and held her close, walking back over to the window.

"Now," she said gravely, "you know how we played that you were a mountain climber today? Now it is for real."

"Really?" Sydney looked pleased. "Are we going down a big mountain, Mommy?"

"Sort of," Laura smiled, "so you will have to hold on very tight to Mommy, so you don't fall. Can you do that?"

Sydney nodded gravely.

"Yes, Mommy."

"That's my girl," Laura approved. "Tight, now, Sydney."

The little arms squeezed hard around her neck as she further anchored Sydney by means of a short silken rope before signaling to Jack to draw the rope taut. Then she backed slowly out the window, Sydney melded to her body, and down the side of the building.

As a cool breeze caught her hair, and lifted it out of her eyes, Sydney took a cautious look around. The world seemed far away and much removed from her and Mommy. Daddy, who was the biggest person she knew, looked like a tiny doll down on the ground, and all the cars were like little toys. It was the most amazing thing Sydney had ever seen, and if Laura could have read her daughter's mind at that moment it would have terrified her, because Sydney was sure that she wanted nothing more than to be exactly like her mother when she grew up.

Now, though, Sydney was silent as Jack let his wife and daughter descend to the sidewalk. No sooner had he untied the rope from his waist, let them down the rest of the way and let go of the rope to help untie Sydney from Laura than did his little girl fling herself into her father's arms, burying her face in his neck.

Her actions spoke louder than any words could, and Jack, in turn, did not hesitate to enfold Sydney in his arms, holding her to him. Father and daughter remained like that as Laura shed her harness and assembled all the gear she could, the last item being the rope that ran through the end of the grappling hook. Once she'd tugged that free and added it to the tidy pile of gear, she leaned over, and tapped Jack on the shoulder.

"Jack? We have to go now. Come on."

He went, still holding his daughter as Laura carried their equipment, and both deposited their bundles in the back seat. Jack buckled Sydney into her booster seat, and kissed her forehead before backing up.

"We have a long way to go," he explained, "so you had better get some sleep, Sweetheart,"

"But I want to talk to you, Daddy," she said petulantly, making Jack smile.

"You will, Sweetheart," he promised her gently. "I'll see you in your dreams."

Sydney sat back, satisfied. So tired was she that Laura hadn't even pulled away from the curb before her little head was drooping against her shoulder. By the time they reached the end of the street, Sydney was fast asleep, and it wasn't long at all before Jack kept his promise, and joined her.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_I really do appreciate all of the responses this had generated so far. Writing this feels the same was writing Five Years did- I really want to put my all into it, and I hope the results are, at the very least, satisfactory. If they are, or if you think I could improve on some part in some way, I would very much enjoy receiving your input._

_Thank you again for all of the feedback you have given me so far, and please, keep reading!_


	7. Chapter Seven

_Still a fairly short chapter, but that will change with the next one. Things are starting to smooth themselves out a bit, and it's going to be rather linear for a while. Or at least, as linear as anything as truly bizarre as this can be . . ._

_Hope you continue to enjoy it, and I especially hope you continue to tell me so!_

0O0O0O0O0O0

They made only one stop before leaving the city limits altogether- a shady-looking place with crudely-lettered warning signs, and a backyard full of car parts. Jack lurked menacingly by their vehicle while Laura walked calmly inside, and emerged with a sullen-looking greasy creature who was not introduced, but whose ownership of the area was well-implied. Parents arranged for the transfer of sleeping child and cargo from their old car to new one, and once money and vows of silence, as well as threats of what would happen if these were broken, had exchanged hands, they were on their way.

Jack drifted off before very long and Laura drove all night without stopping, keeping herself awake by taking long draughts from the pair of insulated coffee mugs sitting in the cup holders. She never drank coffee because she hated the bitter taste, so the contents of that pair of mugs had much the same effect on her as would a shot of adrenaline directly to her heart. By the time the sun rose along the Arizona/New Mexico border, Laura was fairly wired, and it was an immense relief to be able to pull over when Jack awoke.

He took one look at her trembling hands and nervous, antsy expression, and arched an eyebrow.

"Laura? Are you sure you'll be able to sleep?"

"I'll try," she smiled, "and if I can't, I'll get out and push."

"It would save us from having to stop for gas quite as frequently," Jack mused, "but I'd much rather that you get some rest."

"I'll try," she repeated, as they got tout of the car to switch seats, "I really will, but-" she broke off with a nervous giggle. "I really feel a little too awake!"

"All right, Laura, that's it," Jack sighed, "no more coffee for you. You're almost drunk."

"I suppose I am," she continued to giggle. "Even though it's really quite the opposite cause- liquor is a suppressant, you know, while caffeine is a stimulant, and- well, yes, the effect is much the same, so I suppose that I am. And of course," she added, sobering slightly, "coffee gives one the most putrid breath, so a person could hardly expect to be kissed after drinking it, and-"

She wasn't allowed to go on, though, because Jack was so anxious to prove her wrong that before she could even finish her sentence he had captured her lips with his.

"Mmm!" Laura mumbled, pleasantly surprised. When Jack let her go, she smiled up at him.

"So I was wrong," she mused, and he laughed.

"You certainly were. How does it feel?"

"Marvelous," she decided, reaching up and pulling him back down for another, longer kiss.

They were startled apart by a little voice coming from the car, as Sydney wondered,

"Mommy? Daddy? Where are we?"

"We're in New Mexico, Darling," Laura smiled, leaving her place in front of her husband to go to her daughter. "Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?"

"Nuh-uh," Sydney shook her head, "Hafta go pee."

"All right, then. Mommy will tale you while Daddy gets you some breakfast, okay?"

Sydney nodded, still more asleep than awake, as Laura took her hand and led her into the scrubby brush at the side of the road, leaving Jack to scrounge through the cooler.

By the time the two Bristow girls returned, he had procured grapes and bread, which Sydney feasted greedily upon while Laura settled down in the passenger seat.

"Will you be able to sleep at all?" Jack wondered as he got behind the wheel, and Laura nodded reassuringly.

"Oh, yes, Sweetheart. I'm really very tired. It's just that I'm not at all used to coffee . . ."

Her voice trailed off and her eyes fluttered closed, and Jack smiled, first at his sleeping wife, then in the mirror at the little girl who was rapidly devouring the odd meal she had been given.

Then he pulled away from the side of the road, and continued to head for Louisiana, and the sanctuary they hoped it would offer them, for however long they needed it.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Laura awoke in the late afternoon as they were traveling through Texas. She blinked, stretched, and sat up to look around.

"It's beautiful," she remarked presently, tone hushed and almost awed, "Really, Jack- it's beautiful."

Jack smiled at her quiet wonder, and nodded.

"Yes, it is."

As far as the eye could see, they were surrounded by a vast expanse of golden sand. Far off, the landscape was dotted with a handful of ranches, but for all the Bristows knew, they might have been the only humans on the planet.

"Are we all alone?" Sydney wondered, craning her neck so she could see better. Her parents smiled at each other before Laura answered.

"No, Sydney, we're not. There are people not too far away. You just can't see them."

"Like the mirror-room?" The little girl's tone expressed her clear distaste for such a thing, and Jack shook his head.

"Not quite. These people can't see us, either."

"Good," Sydney decided without hesitation, "it's safer if they don't know we're here."

Jack and Laura exchanged worried glances, and when Laura spoke, her tone was quiet, and slightly sad.

"Well, Jack, there you have it. She's our daughter, all right."

Jack glanced in the rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of the little face with the big, chocolate-dark eyes and the little fringe of silky bangs that partially obscured these.

He frowned.

"Don't scare me like that, Laura," he muttered, and drove just a little bit faster.

0O0O0O0O0O0

They reached Louisiana before nightfall, and located a campground just outside New Orleans. It was large and heavily wooded, and they received a remote lot towards the back that offered maximum privacy.

"Only seven other families," Laura reported when she and Sydney returned from a bathroom break, "so I think that we will be fine. Oh, good, you got the tent set up."

Jack, who had done so only after great tribulation, nodded.

"And for the record," he said ominously, "once this is over, we are _burning_ this tent, and _never_ going camping again."

"Now you begin to see things my way," Laura laughed, releasing Sydney's hand so the little girl could run to inspect the interior of her new, temporary residence.

"Only if you were thinking of going to bed right now," Jack smiled, getting to his feet as Laura came over to out her arms around his neck.

"I was pondering it," she admitted, tilting her face up for him to kiss. "I was also thinking-"

"Mommy!" Sydney bubbled, unaware of what she was interrupting as she came running out again, "Mommy, it's just like a house! We have little beds on the ground and everything!"

"You might not be so thrilled about those little beds once you've slept in them for a few nights," her mother said wryly, removing one arm from her husband's neck so she could draw their child to them.

"No, Mommy," Sydney asserted confidently, "I'll always like those little beds. And we get to eat outdoors, like it's always a picnic! I'm hungry right now, Mommy," she added, frowning. "Can we eat soon?"

"Yes, of course we can," Laura nodded. "Daddy can make us a fire, and we'll have some soup, all right?"

"Goody!" Sydney clapped her hands as her parents reluctantly loosed their grasp on each other, and Jack excused himself to go buy firewood while Laura hunted for a pot in which to heat the soup.

As the pot was located and filled with chicken noodle and a can of water, Sydney wandered about their campsite until she could take it no longer, and approached her mother.

"Mommy, can I go play?" she begged. "I'm bored."

"I know, sweetie, but Mommy has to make this. Why don't you get your roller skates out? The road out front here is fairly smooth, and there isn't any traffic. You could skate here, where Mommy can see you."

And, since she hadn't a better idea, Sydney dug the skates out of the car, laced them on, and glided moodily around on the concrete while Laura did her best imitation of Julia Child on a budget.

Jack returned with the firewood as Laura finished putting together sandwiches, and as he built up the fire, Sydney glanced down the road and saw a car coming toward her.

It slowed to allow her time to skate off the road, and then drove past her to a campsite only two lots down from the Bristows'.

As the station wagon passed, Sydney caught a glimpse of a sandy head and curious eyes. A little boy. The new campers had a little - well, little enough, anyway - boy.

Sydney grinned, and half-skated, half-hopped over to her mother's side.

"Mommy, there's a boy in that car!" she pointed to the vehicle that had just shut off its engine.

"Really? That's nice, then. Maybe he'd like to play with you once his family gets settled."

"I hope, I hope, I hope," Sydney chanted, dancing back and forth from one roller skate to another, "Oh, I really hope . . ."

She skated in impatient circles for the rest of the time it took the lady who got out of the station wagon to pitch the ten and get a fire of her own started. Then, before she could go over and meet the boy, Laura called her for supper.

"Sydney, I'm not going to ask you twice!" Laura warned, when she saw her daughter hesitate. "Now, come and take off those skates, and sit down to dinner."

Sydney's shoulders slumped, and she trudged over to where she had left her shoes.

They weren't there.

She looked at the ground, vaguely puzzled.

"Mommy? Did you move my shoes?"

"No, sweetie, don't be silly. Have you checked the tent?"

Sydney did. They weren't there, either, so where . . ?

Her gaze wandered over the ground to where the boy from the new family sat on the picnic table at his own campsite, a big, shaggy dog at his side, and a pair of shoes in his hands. Sydney's shoes.

She marched over the ground that separated the campsites, and came to a halt in front of the boy.

He looked up at her, his eyes friendly and inviting, which surprised her, because now that she was closer to him she guessed that he was about twice her age, and boys who were twelve didn't often look as amicably as he was at girls that much younger than they. Still, friendly or not, there was the issue of Sydney's footwear . . .

"Those are my shoes," she informed him, pointing.

"I know," he answered, and held them out to her.

She accepted them.

"Why did you take them?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"I didn't. Tilou did."

"Tee-loo?" she wrinkled her nose. "What's a tee-loo?"

"This is Tilou." He patted the massive head of the Bouvier des Flanders who sat beside him, watching the exchange between the children with benevolent interest.

"He's big," Sydney observed. This was certainly true- his head came well up past her stomach.

"Mommy and Daddy," she added reflectively, "won't let me have a dog."

"That's too bad," the boy sympathized, then offered apologetically, "I'm sorry he took your shoes."

"That's all right," Sydney shrugged. "I didn't want to put them on anyway. I wanted to keep skating."

"I would have, too," the boy agreed. "I like to skate, too. Do you like to play hockey?"

"Yes," Sydney nodded, her face lighting up. "Mommy taught me how to play."

"I have my hockey stick, and my roller skates," the boy said, "and I brought Papa's old hockey stick, too. Maybe you could play with me tomorrow."

Sydney's eyes shone, and she nodded vigourously.

"I'd like that," she promised him earnestly, and then her mother's call cut across the darkening sky, ever-so-slightly dangerous.

"Sydney Anne, I am _warning_ you . . !"

"I have to go," Sydney admitted, albeit somewhat unnecessarily, and the boy nodded.

"Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow, Sydney."

"Yeah, okay- hey!" she turned around halfway across the lot, and looked back. "I don't even know your name!"

The boy smiled.

"Michael," he said. "My name's Michael Vaughn."

0O0O0O0O0O0

_There you go- not a big surprise, but as big as I could manage without making it really ridiculous. So- interested in getting any more? I really won't know if you are unless you tell me, so please, let me know!_


	8. Chapter Eight

_Okay, this chapter is not that much longer --actually, it's not longer at all-- but still, it's a chapter, and that's a start, right?_

0O0O0O0O0O0

Supper was something of a quiet affair. The Bristows were all concentrating on eating and their own personal thoughts, and so didn't have much time left over to devote to conversation.

Sydney was thinking about Michael. She attended an all-girls school, and therefore was somewhat unacquainted with boys, especially ones as much older than her as Michael was. Most of her friends thought that they were yucky, but Michael seemed nice. He had a dog, and he liked hockey, and when you're five going on six that's pretty much as deep as you need your companions to be. But a life with cautious parents will have its effect, and Sydney was still feeling vaguely uncertain about the next day.

Jack was trying to debate the safest yet still easily accessible place in which to store his gun and ammunition. He knew Laura was keeping hers in an ankle holster 24/7 but for him it wasn't so easy. His gun was larger, and harder for him to conceal, but there was no way he was going to leave it out in the open just because he couldn't hide it properly. His goal was to protect his family, and there would be no way for him to do so if Sydney were to get her hands on his gun.

Laura was worrying about the mail. Jack had only recently gotten back from the Ukraine, and had remarked not too long ago that the book he had posted should be arriving any day now. The books he bought from that particular shop were the method employed by her superiors at the KGB to communicate their orders to her, and if the books were to arrive, and she was not to carry out the instructions contained therein, her employers would know that something was wrong even before she missed her scheduled flight back.

So it was that they went to bed worried, and the fitful sleep they had was due not so much to what was prodding at them from under their backs, but from inside their heads.

Laura finally woke up around three thirty in the morning and could not, no matter how hard she tried, get back to sleep. Quickly and quietly she tugged a hooded sweatshirt on over her pyjamas, slipped her feet into the closest pair of shoes she could find, grabbed a flashlight, and crept from the tent.

Outside, in the crisp coolness of early morning fall air, Laura took several deep breaths to clear her head.

She hadn't quite understood before now exactly what lengths she was willing to go to in order to avoid being sent back to Russia. But the nightmare she'd had just before waking was enough to show her quite clearly where her loyalties lay.

She had dreamed that Irik had come, and killed her husband and her daughter because she would not go back. When she had found that out, she had not even considered hesitating as she put her gun to her head, and pulled the trigger.

Then, of course, she had awoken, and for just a second, believed that it was true- that her family was dead, and that somehow her suicide attempt had failed. Without faltering she had reached for her gun to finish the job, stopping only when her gaze fell on Jack, and she realised that it hadn't happened, after all.

So she was ready, then, to die for her family. Even if it would do them no good, she was quite ready to sacrifice what little she had left if they were taken from her.

It scared her, but it didn't, somehow, surprise her. She knew very well how much she loved her little family, and if she had to give up everything for them, then that was that. She would.

Shivering slightly, now, Laura played the flashlight over the road as she wandered away from their tents toward the entrance of the campground.

Everything was quiet and still, the only audible sound being that of her canvas shoes scuffing the concrete. There was no moon, which mean that besides Laura's flashlight, illumination came only from the lone security light guarding the gates, and from the little campground canteen tucked away behind the play equipment.

Almost without realising what she was doing, Laura headed for the canteen, inwardly marveling at the sort of person who would be awake at such an hour to run a store which nobody was likely to frequent until daylight anyhow.

Nobody, of course, except people like her . . .

When she reached the steps she put out her flashlight and headed up, inside. There, she found a stooped-over elderly man dozing behind the counter. She studied him, a smile playing over her lips, before she moved off to inspect the merchandise.

There wasn't much.

Still, she decided that there was enough in stock to make driving in to New Orleans for the purpose of getting supplies unnecessary, which was something of a relief. Sightseeing, which they planned to do, was a decent cover, but grocery shopping was not, and years of rigid training had taught Laura that a believable cover was imperative.

Not that, at a casual glance, she could possibly appear to be anything other than what she wished to seem to be- what she wanted to be. Her clothes, face and hair all helped to present her as being every bit as ordinary as the next American wife and mother out for a walk at five to four in the morning.

Of course, she reasoned inwardly, it wasn't as if she had another such person to compare herself to, so for all she knew, she looked quite bizarre. It would have been nice if she could have seen another mother in a similar situation, and used her to see how she herself measured up.

Almost as if she had heard Laura's thoughts, another woman entered the store.

This one was shorter than Laura, with sandy hair and large, sad green eyes, but she, like Laura, was wearing old sweats over pyjamas and carried a flashlight in her hand, so Laura decided that she had passed muster just fine.

The newcomer, feeling the much taller woman's eyes on her, smiled with a vague courtesy in her direction.

"Good morning," she murmured, and Laura nodded.

"Good morning."

Both then browsed the store's merchandise in companionable silence, eventually ending up with a jar of peanut butter and two packages of soup mix each. When they met at the counter and saw their purchases were identical, their polite smiles broadened to become warm and genuine.

"I have a son," the blonde woman said, rolling her eyes, "who will not eat toast unless it is smothered in peanut butter."

Laura laughed appreciatively.

"I have a husband who's exactly the same," she replied, laying the items she held down on the counter. "With my daughter it's butter, so it's a miracle she isn't a mile wide by now."

The blonde lady smiled, and as they waited for the aged proprietor to rouse himself enough to make his way over to the cash register, she offered her hand to Laura.

"Sophie Vaughn."

"Laura Bristow," Laura smiled, placing her own hand in Sophie's after the briefest, almost imperceptible of momentary hesitations, "I- Vaughn. That's- French, isn't it? And- the way you pronounced it- you're French yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes," Sophie's eyes flickered downward. "I am. But my husband was an American."

"Was?" Laura prodded delicately, hating herself for doing so.

"He died." Sophie said shortly. "He was involved in a dangerous line of work, and it killed him."

"I'm sorry," Laura murmured. "That's terrible."

Sophie arched a bitter eyebrow.

"_C'est intendu_," she said dryly, and Laura flinched, then frowned.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Mrs. Vaughn. If I sounded condescending, then I do beg your pardon. But I really did meant that- it is a terrible thing. As I mentioned before, I am married, and I have a child myself. If I lost my husband . . ."

She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," Sophie murmured, as Laura paid for her soup mix and peanut butter, "that was rude of me. And it happened several years ago now- I should find it easier to cope. It's simply that the anniversary of his death is approaching, and- well, I still find it difficult."

"Of course," Laura nodded. "That's completely understandable. And if you ever find you need anything while you're staying here, Jack and I would be more than happy to help. We're on lot seventy-six."

"Really?" Sophie looked surprised. "Then it is your little girl Michael was talking about. We're on lot eighty."

"Are you going back there now?" Laura wondered. "I would gladly walk with you- if you don't mind the company."

Sophie didn't, so they walked together, side by side in a comfortable silence that was unspoiled by needless talk. It was only when they came within sight of their tents that Sophie spoke, her tone distinctly apologetic.

"I'm sorry I was so short with you when you expressed your sympathy. So many people say they are sorry, and they have no idea how empty the words sound. I was getting used to that, and then- then you said it. The way you did, it sounded as if you really meant you were sorry. It was such an unexpected thing that I suppose I simply snapped."

Her expression was regretful but her eyes were friendly as she finished simply,

"And not only am I sorry for doing so, but for not telling you at once how much I appreciate you saying that you were sorry, and- and for sounding as if you meant it."

Then, blushing, Sophie hurried away before she could see Laura's own face twist, and hear her whisper,

"I really did."

Then she, too bolted for her family's tent, scrambling into Jack's sleeping bag with him. And, burying her face in her husband's shoulder, Laura burst into tears.

That was how Jack came to wake up to find his wife taking up every available inch of free space in his sleeping bag, drenching his shoulder with her tears as she sobbed like a child.

He looked at the bowed head and the heaving shoulders, and every last trace of resentment he might have borne her for what she had done vanished, as if it had never been.

Slowly, tenderly, and ever so gently, as if he was afraid he might hurt her, he reached out, and rested one hand on her shoulder. He felt each convulsive tremble as acutely as if it were his own, and soon the tears that were wetting his arm were not only his wife's.

They stayed that way, clutching each other and crying, until dawn, when the world began to wake up, and Laura finally fell asleep.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_So it was short. Really short. I'm sorry, and the next one will, I assure you, be much longer. In fact, I'm still not sure where the next one is going to stop, so that's something to look forward to, right?_

_I hope you liked this, and I'm sure it goes without saying by now that if you did, or if you have comments, questions, suggestions etc. I would love, love, love to hear from you._

_Thank you!_


	9. Chapter Nine

_Okay I don't know HOW this happened but somehow I posted a chapter ahead of what I should have. And the thing was nobody even seemed to think that it was out of place or else I'd have noticed a whole lot sooner. Anyway THIS is the real chapter nine and the fake chapter nine that is really chapter ten now resides in its proper place AFTER this chap. I hope that this doesn't mess anybody up too much and that you continue to enjoy!_

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Sydney, huddled by the campfire early in the morning, looked dubiously at the plastic bowl her father had passed her. It contained her breakfast- runny Cream of Wheat liberally doted with lumps, hot in some spots and cold in others.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said politely, and then sat quite still, spoon in hand, studying the cereal.

"Why don't you eat it?" he wondered, and Sydney flushed slightly before quickly covering up with a sweet smile.

"Oh, I'm not especially hungry, thank-you, Daddy. But I might," she added generously, "keep it for- for eating later on."

"Don't bother," Jack sighed, retrieving the bowl and scraping its contents back into the pot over the fire. "You just go play, all right? And when you get hungry, come back and get an apple or something out of the cooler."

Sydney nodded, and jumped to her feet.

"Okay, Daddy. May I go play with Michael, now?"

"The little boy over there?" Jack queried, glancing over at the Vaughns' tent, and Sydney bobbed her head.

"Yes. He asked if I would play hockey with him."

"Fine," Jack sighed. "Just make sure they're actually awake before you go knocking on the door- or, doing whatever it is you do with a tent. I'm going to the store to see if there's anything for us to do in the city, all right? I think your mother needs a diversion."

"Okay, Daddy," Sydney smiled, then stood on tiptoe to tug her father down close enough to be kissed on the cheek.

"I love you," she told him gravely, and then, before he could respond, she slipped away into the tent to get her roller skates.

Jack looked after her for a second, still feeling the soft little lips on his cheeks, innocence meeting experience in a most heartwrenching fashion.

He felt his heart ache for a second at the thought that, one day, his daughter would no longer see the world as a promising place, but a dark one. He wished with all his heart that he could be spared the pain of witnessing that day, and at the same time, more than anything else, he wanted to be there, because she was going to need someone to hold her. He just wasn't sure he'd be strong enough to do that.

Laura, meantime, stirred at the sound of her daughter digging through the clothes she had worn the day before, intent on locating her roller skates.

"Sweetie?" she murmured, and Sydney replied without pausing.

"G'morning, Mommy."

"Good morning. Where is your father?"

"He went to the store, and I'm going to play hockey with Michael."

"All right, but don't stay for too long, all right? I doubt that Mrs. Vaughn needs two kids tearing up the campsite."

"I don't tear, Mommy," Sydney said, offended.

"You do when you haven't eaten breakfast. And since campfire cooking is an acquired skill, I feel safe in assuming that you haven't, have you, Sydney?"

"No," Sydney admitted, "but I'll have an apple later. Is that enough?"

"Maybe," Laura smiled sleepily, sitting up with a luxurious stretch," but knowing you, Sweetheart, as I do, I am skeptical. Now, what is it that you're looking for?"

"Roller skates," Sydney frowned, sitting back on her heels.

"Yes? Try the foot of your sleeping bag."

Sydney did, and emerged victorious.

"Thanks, Mommy!"

"You're welcome, sweetie. Have fun."

Sydney tossed a promise to the affirmative over her shoulder and ran outside, across the vacant camping lot to come to a halt just outside the Vaughns' tent.

"Hello?" she called, and at once a terrific volley of barking went up from the confines of the canvas structure, followed closely by Sophie's panicked admonition to her son.

"Michel! Rapidement! Ouvre la porte!"

"Mais, Maman-"

Sophie shrieked, and Michael must have obeyed, because the zipper was opened just as Tilou came barreling out, heading straight for Sydney. 

He knocked her over, pinning her flat on her back as he scoured her face with his tongue, making her shriek with laughter.

"Oh, Tilou!" Sophie groaned, pushing her son out of the tent so she, too, could get out. "I'm so sorry, _cherie_," she added to Sydney as she hauled the dog away from her, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Sydney giggled, breathless, "I like dogs."

"Well, I'm glad," Sophie smiled, maintaining her grip on the struggling dog with great difficulty. "And I suppose that you are Sydney?"

"Uh-huh," Sydney nodded, getting to her feet. "I am. Are you Michael's mommy?"

"Yes, I am. I'm Sophie. It's nice to meet you, Sydney. Are you two going to play together?"

"Yes, Mama," Michael nodded. "Hockey."

If Sophie was surprised that her twelve-year-old son was going to be playing hockey with a six-year-old, she didn't show it.

"Well, have fun, then. Just be sure you don't go too far away without telling me first, okay, Michael?"

"Okay, Mama." While some boys his age might have resented the gesture, Michael seemed quite calm about it. "Where are the hockey sticks?"

"They're still in the car, along with your roller skates. Have fun!"

They were already running over to the car, where Michael located his skates and tugged them on as Sydney hauled the hockey sticks out.

"Why did you bring two sticks?" she wondered. "Is your daddy here, too? Where is he? Or won't he need it?"

Michael's eyes fell downward, and his hands stilled. He took his time before he spoke, and when he did, his tones were much quieter than they had been previously.

"He's dead."

"Oh." Sydney was stricken. "I'm sorry."

She was old enough to know to say it, and still young enough to really mean it. She loved her father more than anything, except her mother, and if she lost either one of them . . . she couldn't even begin to imagine how that would feel.

Michael, now, had set his chin on his knee and clenched his jaw tight together while tears shone in his eyes. He was old enough to know that boys weren't supposed to cry, and young enough to want to. At last he spoke, tones even more unsteady, and now full of a grief far beyond his years.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Me, too."

Then, with the remarkable way children have, they came to an unspoken agreement that the subject was closed for now, getting to their feet, gathering their game equipment and making their way to the road.

"What're we gonna use for goals?" Sydney wondered, making Michael glance around, his forehead furrowed.

"Dunno. Maybe- can you see any sticks?"

Sticks, for all that they were in a forest, were depressingly scarce. In the end the children assembled little piles of rocks to use for goal posts, and got down to the business at hand.

Before much time had passed at all, they had each gained a new respect for each other's playing skills. Laura had taught Sydney thoroughly, and if Michael's ability was anything to go by, his father had been a superlative player as well.

Hours passed with little gained on either side, and though Michael did get the upper hand, it was only with noticeable difficulty, for all that he was playing a girl half his age. When at last by mutual consent they did end the game, they were breathless, soaked in sweat, and thoroughly exhilarated.

"You're good," was the first thing Sydney said, between little gulps for air, and Michael grinned.

"Thanks. You are, too."

"That's only because Mommy is," she replied truthfully. "And she taught me, so I guess I have to be good, too. Your daddy must have been really good, too."

Michael glanced over at her, face grave, and nodded his thanks.

"Yeah. He was."

Sydney nodded, then flopped over on the grass, lying flat on her back to study the sky. Presently she said.

"Are you and mommy running away, too?"

"What do you mean?" Michael wondered.

"Well, that's why we're here. We're running away. I'm really supposed to be in school right now, not here. Aren't you?"

"Well- yeah, I guess."

"But we aren't at school, are we? Even though we're supposed to be, we aren't. We're here. So I thought that maybe you and your mommy were running away too, just like we are."

"Oh." Michael considered. "Maybe we are, then, if you want to look at it like that. But we aren't really running away, because we aren't going to be gone forever. Mama just wanted to be away from our house for a while, because this is getting near the time Papa died, and it reminds her of him to be there."

Then, with gentlemanly courtesy, "What are you running away from?"

It was a surprisingly difficult question, and one that Sydney had to take her time answering. When at last she did, she spoke carefully, weighing her words in a rather adult fashion.

"I don't know for sure," she admitted reflectively. "I thought, first, that we were running away from the people who took me from Mommy and Daddy, and maybe we are. But there was a man, too, I forgot about until we got here. He isn't one of those people, but I think he's bad, too. So maybe instead, we're running away from him."

"Maybe you're running away from all of them," Michael suggested. This was a new thought, and Sydney pondered it with interest.

"Maybe we are. Because I don't think Daddy knows the scary man, but Mommy does. So maybe we're running away from all of them. But I hope we're not, because more people would mean more running, wouldn't it? And already, I don't think I like running very much."

Michael looked at the serious little face beside his, and felt his own heart go right out to her. He smiled, and half teasingly offered sympathy in the form of a suggestion that doubtless said something about his upbringing.

"Maybe" he smiled, "your daddy could get a gun and just shoot them all. What do you think?"

Sydney took him quite seriously- which also likely said something about her upbringing.

"Daddy already has a gun," she shrugged. "And Mommy does, too, though I'm not supposed to know it. I don't know why they don't just shoot everybody. Maybe they don't know how to use them."

"Or maybe they don't like too," Michael said quietly, gravity restored. "My papa had a gun, and he didn't like to use it. He said he would use it, if he had to save Mama or me, but he didn't want to have to. Maybe your parents are like that."

Sydney considered her father, who had threatened the paper boy with bodily harm if he broke another flower pot, and her mother, who had put one of Daddy's co-workers in a headlock at the company picnic for using bad words in front of her daughter. She was dubious.

"Maybe . . ." she said hesitantly.

"Or maybe they just like running," Michael concluded. "Now, do you want to ask if we can go to the playground? They've got swings there- do you like swings?"

Already he felt oddly protective of the little girl, and was experiencing the oddest desire to watch out for her. As it turned out, Sydney liked swings very much, so she consented to accompany him, and they split up to beg their mothers for permission.

Once they had received this, they had to put shoes on in place of skates, and meet back by the road. This time, Michael had Tilou at his side.

"Mama said we have to bring him," he explained.

"Why? Does she think he'll protect us?" Sydney wondered.

"No," Michael shook his head, "she thinks he'll tear up the tent if we don't."

"Oh," Sydney patted the appreciative dog on his shaggy head. "Would he, really?"

"Probably," Michael admitted. "But he likes the playground, so he'll be good for us."

This was all the assurance Sydney needed, and the three of them set off down the road together.

It was a long walk for little legs- especially legs as little as Sydney's. But neither child so much as sighed throughout the duration of it. Rather, they walked together in silence, the only sounds given up by any of them being the scuff of sneakers on concrete, and click of Tilou's toenails.

Only when they came within sight of other peoples' tents and vehicles was the hush broken when Sydney spoke.

"I don't," she told her newfound friend quietly, "Want to talk to people."

It was a rather humbling statement, even for a six year old, but she made it without shame, or even fear. Instead, there was only a simple note of request, and Michael rose to it with gallantry.

"You won't have to," he reassured her, and he was as good as his word. If any campers smiled at the little trio, or looked as if they were inclined to speak to them, Michael met their gaze with a warning one; one that promised poor reception of advances of any sort. People took the hint, and kept away, so that when the children and their shaggy escort had reached the playground they had yet to be addressed by anyone, and Sydney was again the one to break the silence.

"Thank you," she said calmly. Then, "Do you want to go on the swings?"

Michael did.

They swung together, in perfect time, while Tilou watched with avid interest. The young faces were oddly set and determined, as if what they were doing was no recreation but a job that had to be accomplished without complaint. Had anyone been watching at that moment, there could have been no doubt on his or her part that these were unusual children, to say the least.

Nobody, however was watching. Nobody save Tilou, and in the wonderful way of all dogs, as far as he was concerned it was these children of his who were normal, and the rest of the world that had got everything backward.

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_Okay that's the real chapter nine! At least it's done now, and chapter ten is up although it was for a while masquerading as chapter nine . . . chapter eleven will be up very soon, too! It's done, I just have to post it . . . I'm curious to know what you think of this first, though, so please, let me know!_


	10. Chapter Ten

_All right, a shorter chap yet again! I don't normally write them like this, as you know, but since this story was written out longhand first, they seemed a lot longer than they are when I type them up._

_Thanks to everybody who has reviewed so faithfully this far, and I hope you keep coming back for more!_

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They had no way of knowing for sure how long they were on the swings. Sydney saw the sun rise high in the sky, and Michael watched the shadows shorten, but neither the sun nor the shadows had an hour hand, so they didn't do them much good.

They were there, though, for several hours before Laura came looking for her daughter. The children had interspersed swinging with resting, and watching Tilou run in circles, and were doing so when Sydney's mother found them.

"That," Sydney said, pointing, when Laura was still some distance away, "is my mommy."

"Really?" Michael studied the woman making her way towards them judiciously. "She's very pretty."

"Yes," Sydney agreed, with the air of one stating a simple fact, "she is. Daddy calls her beautiful."

Michael nodded sage approval of such a title for Laura Bristow as she reached them, and smiled.

"Hey, kids. Are you tired out yet?"

"Not yet, Mommy," Sydney reassured her. "We've been taking breaks, you see."

"I see," Laura nodded. "Well, why don't you introduce me to your new friend, Sydney?"

Sydney blushed.

"Sorry, Mommy, I forgot. This is Michael. Michael, this is my mommy."

"Laura," Laura supplied, and offered her hand. Much to her amusement, Michael rose to bow over it quite elegantly.

"Now, who taught you to do that?" she wondered, and the boy's grin was both sheepish and proud.

"My papa. He said it's how you greet a lady."

"Well, he sounds like a wonderful man," Laura said gently. "I am sure he would be very proud of you."

Michael's eyes flickered downward, and quite effectively rent at Laura's heart.

"I hope so," he mumbled, and dug at the gravel with the toe of his sneaker. "My mama said he was a good man. I want to be just like him when I grow up."

"I'm sure you will be," Laura said, her voice strained. Then she turned and addressed Sydney rather breathlessly.

"Sweetheart, we need to go now. Daddy wants to do something."

"What?" Sydney wanted to know, and Laura shrugged helplessly.

"I really don't know. All he said was that he wanted to do something. Never let your father," she added, "be accused of over-lucidity."

"So it's a surprise?" Sydney's curiosity was aroused.

"Well- yes. Of a sort. Now, Michael, would you like to come back to the campsite with us, or do you want to stay here a while longer?"

"I think I'll stay here, thank you," Michael decided, so Laura nodded, and, once Sydney had said good bye to both Michael and Tilou, took her by the hand and led her away.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Laura wondered, and Sydney nodded.

"Yes. Michael's nice."

"He is? Did you find lots to talk about, then?"

"No," Sydney shook her head. "He was especially nice because he didn't talk a lot. We only really talked about his daddy, and hockey, and running."

Laura digested this information. Hockey was fine. His father- well, he wasn't fine, but he was also beyond caring, so as long as Laura didn't dwell on it, she would be, too. Running, though- that was a curiosity.

"Running, sweetie?"

"Yes. About how he's running away with his mommy - only he calls her his mama - and Tilou for a little while only they're going to go back sometime, and how you and Daddy and me are running away too, only maybe we won't go back. Because maybe those people will be waiting for us."

"You told him we were running away?" Laura was alarmed.

"Yes," Sydney nodded, "but don't be worried he'll tell anybody, Mommy. Even if he does, nobody will believe him, because he's a kid. Nobody believes anything kids say until grown ups say it, too."

She stated it as an indisputable fact, and while Laura's initial inclination was to dispute it, upon consideration she realised that what Sydney had just said was true. How often had Sydney told her something that Laura had not later verified with Jack, or a teacher, or some other reliable source before she would accept it as truth?

And yet, out of all those times, Laura could count on one hand the number of times that Sydney had been wrong.

she thought, 

"Well, Sweetie," she sighed at last, "I hope you're right."

"I am," Sydney assented, "but I wish I wasn't. Michael is a really smart boy- people should listen to him. I think maybe his dad must have been smart, too."

"Maybe," Laura said, uncomfortable with the sudden change of topic, "Or maybe his mother is."

"Yes, but Michael really loved his daddy, so I guess that even if he weren't smart it wouldn't matter, because Michael would have loved him anyway."

"I'm sure," Laura mumbled, studying her feet.

"It's too bad he died," Sydney mused. "If Daddy died, I'd cry forever and ever, and the same if you did, too. If I were Michael, I think I'd prob'ly _still_ be crying."

"Yes," Laura said stiffly, "I'm sure you would."

"But you won't die, mommy, will you?" Sydney verified, and the words, spoken with such innocent faith, were like a knife stuck in her mother's gut and twisted to the side.

"And Daddy won't either, will he?" she went on, unaware of the discomfort she was causing her mother. "Not for a long, long time, right? Not until you're both very, very old."

"That's right," Laura said quickly, "very old. Now, Sydney-"

"But Mommy," Sydney cut in, her little forehead wrinkling, "I don't think Michael's daddy could have been very old, could he? Because Michael's not much older than I am. So can people die when they aren't very old?"

"Sometimes, yes, they can," Laura mumbled. "Maybe Michael's daddy died in a car crash, or something like that."

"Oh. Maybe." Sydney pondered this for a minute. "But I really hope not," she decided at last.

"You do? Why?"

"Because if Michael's daddy can die in a car crash, then so could you and Daddy," Sydney explained earnestly.

"Oh, Sydney," Laura fought back the guilty lump that rose in her throat and threatened to choke her. She knelt. "Look at me."

Sydney did.

"Mommy and Daddy," Laura said earnestly, "are very strong and healthy, and we are very good drivers. I am not saying it is impossible that we could die, but it is very unlikely. And even should one of us have to go away, the other will always be here for you. All right?"

Sydney nodded gravely. As she did, the two tangles that had once been braids bounced up and down, drawing Laura's attention to them and giving her an excuse for a change of subject.

"Oh, Sweetie, you didn't brush out your hair!" A hand flew out to make a futile attempt at smoothing down the snarled tresses.

"No," Sydney agreed, quite unabashed, "I didn't. I can't do braids. They make my fingers go into knots and then they hurt and they're too hard to get out again, Mommy, you know that. They would've been even more tangly if I'd tried to do them myself, so I just left them in."

"Well," Laura smiled, moving her hand to smooth it over her daughter's cheek instead of her hair, "I can hardly fault such foresight, now, can I? But Daddy will certainly find fault if we keep him waiting much longer. Tell you what- how about Mommy gives you a piggyback?"

The prospect appealed to Sydney greatly, so Laura hoisted her child up on to her back and then took off, running. It felt wonderful to stretch her legs, and Sydney was a barely noticeable weight as she travelled.

Sydney, the wind whipping her offensive plaits out behind her like two silky streamers, was thrilled to pieces. Mommy rarely ever ran, but the few times she had, and carried Sydney, the little girl felt as if she might take flight at any moment.

Laura, feeling the soft cheek pressed against the back of her neck, fought back a lump that threatened to choke her. She couldn't imagine willingly leaving this - her whole life - behind, all for the sake of a country whose principles were no longer her own. In Russia this had been a way for her to survive; to liberate herself. But after spending so many years here, in a country where people were so largely ignorant of what true suffering and oppression were, she herself had begun to forget why she had even accepted her job in the first place.

Sydney and Jack, now, were everything important to her. She would, she decided, so everything she could to keep them, but above all she would do whatever was necessary to keep them safe from her poor choices.

Laura thought of the consequences should Petrov, Cuvee, Khasinau or any of the others get their hands on her family. She ran a little faster.

Jack looked up from closing up the tent when Laura came speeding into the campsite, a delighted child clinging to her neck.

"What is it?" he demanded, on his feet in an instant. "Did somebody see, or- or ask, or - did you - what happened?"

"Nothing," Laura said unsteadily, letting Sydney slide to the ground before she dropped onto a fireside log. "Nothing, Jack. I just . . . felt like running."

Jack eyed her sceptically, but said only,

"All right, then. Are you both ready?"

Laura shook her head.

"Not quite. Sydney needs to have her hair brushed, and she has grass stains on her knees, so she needs new clothes as well. I need to freshen up a bit myself, so . . ." Laura considered. "How about you give us ten minutes?"

Jack agreed that this seemed fair, and then sat down by the ashes of that morning's fire to wait as the two women in his life rushed into the tent to make themselves decent.

Once the tent had been zipped up behind them, Laura first instructed Sydney to change her clothes while she brushed her own hair and touched up her face. Then she settled down to brushing and re-braiding Sydney's hair before she declared her beautiful and decided that they were at last fit to be seen with Jack. Jack's expression, when he saw his wife and daughter coming toward him, indicated his complete agreement with this statement.

"Well?" Laura queried with the archness of a woman who knows exactly how fantastic she looks, "are we presentable?"

"You," Jack accused her, "are fishing for compliments."

"I?" Laura opened her eyes very wide, then smiled coyly. "Never!"

"You're sure?" Jack asked suspiciously, and his wife nodded with an air of finality.

"Quite."

"Well, then," he decided, "I think that you are two of the most beautiful ladies I have seen in my whole life."

Sydney squealed in delight at the compliment, and Laura smiled serenely.

"That was very nice," she decided, tilting her cheek primly toward him. "You may kiss me."

He complied most readily, making Sydney giggle.

"Mommy," she shrieked, "Daddy's KISSING you!"

"Yes, dear," Laura murmured, slipping her arms around Jack's neck and returning the favour, "I know."

Sydney made a face. Playing hockey with a boy was one thing, but kissing one? No, thank you! And especially not the way hat Mommy and Daddy kissed each other. She didn't care how much they seemed to enjoy it- that was just gross!

Mommy, though, did not seem to mind especially. Indeed, she was returning Daddy's kiss with something very much like enthusiasm.

Grown ups were so strange.

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_Yep, just a little bitty thing, I know, but the natural chapter breaks that keep happening throughout the story just happen to chop it up into smaller pieces than I normally write them! I'm catching up to myself, though . . . soon I'll be writing in real time, and maybe then things will lengthen a bit . . . who can say? For now, I hope you like it (I know it's not great; I wrote this particular bit over a year ago so now I can see where it falls short but I figured what the heck and posted it anyway) and that you tell me all about it!_


	11. Chapter Eleven

_A teensy bit longer chap, and this one's unique because it's got some of the older material as well as some new material that I only just wrote. So I don't know if that will make it any better or not, but I was looking back at what I've been writing and I just get the feeling I should somehow have done better, so let's hope that here I've succeeded._

_I hope that nobody was too badly confused by my rather silly uploading mistake when I put chapter ten up as chapter nine, but as you can see everything's now fixed and in its proper order. Thanks everybody for being so encouraging this far and please, keep it up!_

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New Orleans was one of the most exciting cities Sydney had ever seen. She was not able to remember Langley, which they had left when she was only two, and after living in Los Angeles for almost four years she was vaguely bored by it. New Orleans, though- New Orleans was something else.

Colourfully dressed people roamed the narrow streets, their voices a delicious blend of French and English intermingled. The smell of spicy food filled the air of streets lined with bistros, and music of all sorts could be heard from far and wide.

"Are you enjoying this, Sydney?" Laura called over her shoulder, and Sydney's eyes sparkled as she nodded.

"Oh, yes, Mommy! It's so beautiful, I want to take it all home with me!"

Her father laughed, amused.

"You might have a bit of a chore getting it all to fit in the trunk, though, Pumpkin," he pointed out. "So maybe you had better just enjoy it as it is."

"Or," Sydney perked up at the thought of a third option, "maybe we could just stay here. We could live here forever, and nobody would ever know we were here except Michael and his mommy and that's okay because they're nice anyway and they won't tell the bad people where we are."

People less adept at picking the critical points out of a lot of meaninglessness might not have fared so well as Sydney's parents did when attempting to follow her spiel. Jack and Laura, however, made out quite well, and at the conclusion of their daughter's speech they exchanged slightly troubled glances.

"No, Sydney," Laura agreed at last, her own voice quiet, "I am sure that they wouldn't. Now, why don't you think of something you'd like to do while we're here in town, and Daddy can drive us there to do it, okay?"

So Sydney understood that the topic had been changed, and was quick to obey and speak of other, indeed more exciting, things.

"I want an ice cream!" she announced, and both her parents gave her bewildered looks.

"An ice cream?" Laura asked dubiously, and Sydney nodded emphatically.

"Yes. I didn't have any breakfast so now I'm hungry and I want to get an ice cream."

"Well," Jack frowned, "you may be hungry, but if you haven't eaten your breakfast then you're certainly not getting an ice cream."

"Oh, _please_ Daddy?" Sydney begged shamelessly. "I want an ice cream!"

"Yes, I am aware that you want an-"

"And just a _small_ one, Daddy, I promise!"

"Small or large makes no difference when you haven't had any-"

"Just an itsy bitsy one, Daddy, really!"

"Sydney, it could border on microscopic and its chemical makeup would still define it as an-"

"And then I'll have a great big lunch too, Daddy! A really good one!"

"I have no doubt that you will have an excellent-"

"Just please say yes, Daddy, please!" she opened her eyes as wide as she could, pinning Jack's gaze in the rearview mirror, then jutted out her bottom lip and clasped her little hands together beneath her chin.

It was comical, fabricated and so utterly transparent, and yet Jack cringed, feeling himself weakening, as he always did, at the sight of it. He just could never resist. Laura, however, as she usually did, came to his rescue with adroitness.

"If you didn't eat breakfast when I told you to, then you will wait until we eat lunch to eat at all. We are going to go to the park," she announced briskly. "You will have lots of fun at the park, Sydney."

"No, I won't," Sydney pouted, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll probably get lost cause it's way too big. Then I'll never ever see you again and I'll just die."

"Don't be morbid," Laura frowned, then lightened her tones. "And don't say such silly things. If you ever did get lost, you would sit still in just one spot, and Mommy and Daddy would just look for you until we found you again."

"Really?" Sydney queried, seizing on this new thought, "You'd look forever and ever just for me?"

"If that's how long it took to find you, then yes, we would," Laura assented.

"You would never quit?" Sydney pressed, and Laura's smile was gentle as she shook her head.

"No, of course not, Sydney. You're our little girl, and we love you too much. Love never quits."

This was a novel concept, and one that preoccupied Sydney for the remainder of the drive to the park. If love didn't quit, she decided, then there would never be any need for her to worry, because Jack and Laura Bristow loved their little girl more than anything. Sydney knew this was true even if nothing else was. It was, she thought, a very good thing for a little girl to know.

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The park that Jack found for them was beautiful- a fascinating cross between public gardens and an elaborate playground, the latter delighting Sydney, the former enchanting her mother.

"We'll take her for a walk once she's done here," Laura planned, watching as Sydney took off for her personal favourite, the monkey bars.

"What, through the city?" Jack asked absently, following his daughter's nimble progress up the ladder and out across the cross-bars, swinging happily, a great big smile on her face. His wife made a sound of exasperation as she corrected him.

"No, the gardens. They're gorgeous- we must have just made it before they started dying off."

Jack made a non-committal cluck and nodded, following his wife over to a nearby bench, both of them keeping their eyes fastened on their daughter. She was sliding down a pole, now, and running back to clamber right back onto the set again, her whole face aglow with the delight of just being able to stretch her limbs and exert herself in the manner she loved the most.

"Look at her," Laura said, her tone equal parts proud and pained. "She's just growing so fast, Jack . . . her teacher was telling me just last week that she's above average in the majority of her development groups at school . . . and just look at her motor skills." They paused to do so before Laura resumed her proud, parental prattle, this time a bit more wistfully. "We really outdid ourselves, Jack," she observed quietly. "She- she's just . . ."

She broke off, words failing her, but Jack, understanding what it was that his wife meant, smiled and nodded.

"Yes," he agreed, reaching out to catch her hand and give it a quick squeeze, "she really is."

He paused, swallowing hard as an unwelcome thought caught him rudely by surprise. Knowing now as he did where his wife's loyalties had lain for so very long . . . the thought that attacked was a horrible one but even more terribly it was a tenacious one too. Try though he might, once it had attached itself to him he found he simply couldn't shake it, so at last, his heart nearly choking him as it filled his throat, he turned to face Laura and spoke, his voice rasping.

"I- Laura, I- I'm sorry, but I- I just need to . . . to know. I shouldn't ask, because it- it doesn't - shouldn't - matter . . . not now . . . but . . . all the same. I'm sorry. I just . . . I need to know."

She faced him as well, her expression wary but also grave and accepting as she nodded.

"Of course, Jack," she spoke simply in an effort to conceal the slight catch to her voice. "Of course you do. You have every right to- to ask. So go ahead. Ask me."

He swallowed once more, hating the knowledge that there was no way he'd be able to let this go otherwise.

"When- when you first . . . discovered . . . that you were . . . expecting. Sydney. You- what did you . . . were you ever- ever ordered to- to maybe . . ."

He stopped, unable to continue. He didn't have to, though, because Laura knew what he meant, as was evidenced by her own pained expression as she listened to him struggle to voice the words. Once he had stopped she took a deep breath to steady her own voice before she answered him.

"When I first . . . realised that I was pregnant, I- I came as close as I think I ever have to . . . panicking. I had no idea what I was going to do . . . what I would be ordered to do . . . how I could possibly explain it. I'd always been so very careful, and it had helped that you always said we neither of us had time for children, so I hadn't even tried to hide the fact that I was . . . taking every precaution. So for a while I didn't even see . . . how it could possibly be true."

She blinked quickly; furiously, and composed herself before she went on.

"When I told my case officer, he was . . . pleased, at first. No, he was delighted. It would improve my cover story all the more, he said. It would also . . . indebt you to me, he felt; me, the mother of your child. It would make us look better on the whole; the perfect, American family. He told me, in sum, that it was quite possibly the best mistake I could ever have made."

She lowered her eyes, blinked once, then continued.

"So . . . I let it go on. I let it happen. I let the idea - the thrill - of motherhood take root; I let it flower. I was actually relieved that I was able to- to release this joy I hadn't even realised I'd been holding back. I could hardly wait to see your face when I told you . . . I knew that despite what you had said, you would be thrilled. I was just ecstatic about the thought of making you that happy; of being able to prepare for her arrival . . . decorate her nursery, pick out clothes . . . Jack, was simply thrilled."

She shut her eyes again, this time in agony.

"Too thrilled."

She took a deep breath.

"My case officer - Kasovitch, his name was - saw it. He saw how delighted I was, and . . . he grew concerned. I was . . . enjoying myself too much. It was all well and good, he explained to me, that I was preserving my cover, but . . . it was not at all good that I seemed to be preserving it to the point of . . . deceiving myself."

She shivered, fighting off the waves of icy fear that the memory revived for her.

"He said that I was not going to be a mother- not in the conventional sense of the word. I was simply to birth this child and treat it with the same knowledge I treated you- that it was part of a cover, and would be left behind when I was recalled. I was in no way to deceive myself that I would ever really be a mother to it- simply a biological parent that simulated affection at the appropriate times. He was so cold . . . so clinical. The description made me just sick, and- and he saw it."

She blinked furiously.

"He said that he realised then that my pregnancy had become more of a liability than an asset. He told me to terminate it."

Jack felt as if she had just dealt him a gut-blow. He ached for her, but even more than that he was utterly sickened at the thought of how she had endured all of this alone, silent, without him ever so much as suspecting.

"What . . ." he managed to ask, "what did you . . ."

She took a deep breath.

"I . . . terminated him."

Jack stared at her, dumbfounded. She offered him the tiniest of smiles before explaining.

"I couldn't simply refuse, Jack. It- they would have recalled me, and they'd have taken her away anyway- if they even let me give birth at all. If," she gulped, "they even let me live to. And I couldn't kill her, Jack- I couldn't. She was _mine_." A fierce, proud light entered her eyes briefly. "She wasn't a- an asset. She wasn't a cover story. She wasn't a prop. She was yours and she was _mine_. I'd never had anything that was really entirely my own . . . before Sydney, you were the closest I'd ever come. And they were trying to take her away from me, Jack, and I just _couldn't_ let it happen. So I did the only thing I could do. I . . . removed the obstacle."

She knit her fingers together and studied them before recounting.

"I was still in his hotel room, where I always met him, when I agreed to make the . . . appointment. He found me a clinic that was apparently very clean, where he assured me that they would be . . . discreet, and I . . . agreed. I agreed to kill our child, Jack, and even though I knew the whole time that I wasn't going to go through with it I still got sick just saying the words. But after I left him, I went down to the hotel kitchen. He always received me just before lunch, you see . . . then I would leave the room and go down to the hotel restaurant and meet a friend for lunch. It was to preserve my cover story, although of course the friend would never know that.

"But that day, after I left him, I went to the kitchen first and I found the room service order intended for him. He was having peaches. Among other things. But peaches. And of course, you know about peaches, don't you, Jack? About- about the pits."

Jack did.

"I pitted some . . . cracked them open . . . the pits, I mean. I mixed as much as I could in with his salad and soup. I hoped he would at least get enough in to finish him off instead of just making him sick . . . then I sliced the peaches for him, and- and that was it. It was so . . . so easy. I think it helped a bit, though, that I knew I had to- to save our child. I did wish it could have been something a bit more foolproof, though. I knew there would be some sort of investigation, and if he didn't happen to eat the peaches first, then there would be questions . . . so many questions. I knew, too, that even though in America I was above suspicion because nobody knew of the connection we had, if my superiors in Russia were ever to become suspicious, I would be the first one suspected."

She leaned back, breathing with an effort.

"I lived in stark fear for I don't know how long. But I accomplished what I wanted to. He died. I read that the maid had discovered his body that night going to turn down the covers. And of course by the time I was reassigned a case officer I was entering my third trimester and a 'miscarriage', it was agreed, would raise too many questions. There was some talk of me taking some drugs to induce labour so she would be born prematurely, and a death in that instance might have been believable, but the thought never really went anywhere. There was no reason, it seemed, because I'd always made so sure after that to hide how excited I was to become a mother. So Sydney was born and- and she lived."

She slumped a bit at the conclusion of her narrative, and Jack just stared. It was . . . far worse, in a way, than he'd ever imagined, and yet it was also far, far better than he could ever have hoped.

His jaw worked for a minute, and he turned his head to watch Sydney as she scrambled over the playground equipment, shrieking with laughter. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were brilliant, her braids flying as she climbed. She was so small and fragile; so utterly beautiful. So completely his. But only now did he realise how close he had come to never having her at all; how he never would have, had it not been for . . .

He turned his head to look at his wife, suddenly feeling that there was nothing he could possibly say that would be adequate, yet feeling, just as strongly, that he had to say _something_. So, with an effort, he made his mouth move; made his tongue form words that didn't even come close to what it was he was feeling, but were better than nothing.

"Thank you," he managed, emotion choking the majority of his coherence away anyway. "Thank you . . . so much . . . for our daughter. Thank you."

Laura's own eyes filled with tears at hearing him, and she pressed her palms to her lips, bowing her head quickly to hide the fact that she was set to cry.

"I-" she fumbled, "I wish I could say that I did it for you, Jack . . . or even for us. I wish I could even say that I did it for her. But- I'm afraid I did it mostly for me. I just . . . I just wanted her so _badly_, Jack. I wanted so much to have you and her for my very own, even if I knew I couldn't have you forever."

Jack reached out for her then without a word and she fell into his arms, trembling. As he held her and just let her stay there, pressed against him, shaking, he found his voice once more. It was gravely but it was his, and he reassured her.

"You've got me. You've got both of us, Laura. For just as long as you want us, you've got us both."

And Laura felt some of the tension ease out of her at hearing him speak the words, because right then, they were the only ones she needed to hear.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_Well that was longer, anyway! At least a bit. And I enjoyed writing it- I especially enjoyed the bit about the peaches, because I've been wanting to use that in a story for some time. As readers may or may not be aware, cyanide occurs naturally in the seeds of several fruits, peaches among them. To extract the cyanide in its purest form you really do need to grind and powder the peach pits, but in large doses even diluted cyanide can be perfectly fatal. Now, peach pits generally don't contain enough cyanide to kill a person with just a few pits, but I stretched things just a bit, and enjoyed writing this chapter, for this and other reasons too. I just wish I could have posted it sooner but my work schedule and a whole bunch of boring seminars interfered -I never knew that a summer job could require seminars until this summer- so it had to wait until now. But I hope it was worth it! Was it? Let me know! And thanks so much for sticking with me- it will get done eventually, I promise!_


	12. Chapter Twelve

_I'm not sure anybody even remembers this, but I decided I was sick and tired of it not being done, so it's going to be finished, if only for my own sake!_

0O0O0O0O0O0

It's impossible to say how long husband and wife would have sat there on the bench, caught firmly against one another as if they were the only two people in the world, had the little voice that made up the third part of their family not interrupted with a happy shout.

"Mommy, Daddy, look! Lookit me!"

So both parents looked, and both parents reacted.

"Sydney!" Laura was on her feet, rage and concern intermingling dangerously, "Sydney Anne Bristow come down from there this instant!"

"But Mommy, it's so much fun! Everybody looks so tiny!"

"Sydney, you heard your mother. Come down here at once!" Jack ended on such a bellow that half the children within earshot promptly burst into tears, and as their harried mothers rushed to collect them they shot bitter glares at the Bristows.

Had the Bristows noticed this, Jack would have been instantly apologetic and Laura immediately defensive, but circumstances were such that they didn't even notice; they were too busy staring in horror at their flushed, triumphant daughter, who had managed to make it not only to the top of the jungle gym, but from there to the very top of the sliding pole, where she was now perched in high state, grinning down at the playground some ten to fifteen feet below her.

"Sydney Anne, I am warning you!" Laura's voice carried a tone that her daughter knew far better than to ignore. With a sulky scowl, Sydney gripped the bar on which she sat and prepared to descend.

"Alright, alright," she could be heard to grumble, but whatever else she might have planned to say was immediately eclipsed by her own shrill scream as one shoe missed its purchase on the smooth side of the pole, and suddenly, terrifyingly, she was dangling from that same pole by only one hand.

Both her parents bolted forward, her mother crying out as her father shouted her name, and Sydney's answering shriek of terror set the few children who hadn't been frightened by Jack into fits of crying themselves.

"Sydney!" Laura reached the edge of the playground complex and began impatiently threading her way through the myriad equipment scattered about, "Sydney, hold on, sweetheart, we're- no, Jack not there, you won't fit! Go around!"

So Jack did, but as he did Sydney gave another wail and declared that her hands were slipping. By now Laura had cleared most of the equipment and almost reached the ground below her daughter, but Jack was still struggling to force his way past narrow bars and what suddenly seemed to be an army of children. It was all he could do not to use one arm to sweep them aside as he waited impatiently for the way before him to open up.

As he waited, though, two things happened- the first and most important being that Laura reached the base of the pole Sydney held, and the second being that Sydney's hand slipped from that pole and she plummeted down to land squarely on top of her mother, who may or may not have planned it that way.

Whether or not Laura had planned it, Sydney's momentum was such that it knocked her mother off her feet, onto her back, the solid little body driving her deep into the sand. The air rushed from them both and they were still lying there, stunned, when Jack reached them a moment later.

"Laura!" he shouted, as Sydney blinked up at him and then looked back down at her mother. "Are you okay?"

"Mommy?" Sydney peered down into her mother's face. "You caught me. Sort of."

"Sort of," Laura gasped, though whether in response to Jack's question or affirmation of Sydney's observation was impossible to tell. "Sort of. I- my ribs . . ."

So Jack eased Sydney off her mother, told her to stay put, then bent to gently ease his wife up off the ground. Laura's face was ashen and set as she kept one arm pressed to her side, and Jack helped her to her feet.

"Cracked, at least," she murmured through set teeth, and Jack, accepting her verdict, scooped Sydney up in one arm and wrapped the other firmly around his wife.

"We're going to a hospital."

"Jack, no! We can't . . . you know we can't . . ."

"Laura, we're going. We can't not go. Sydney, sweetheart, don't cry; your mother is fine. Or she will be, once she sees a doctor."

"I'm not seeing any doctor!"

"Mommy," Sydney was stricken, "Mommy, is it my fault?"

"No, precious one, of course it's not. It was an accident."

"An accident that can be fixed by a doctor."

"Jack, we can't."

"Laura, you've got to."

"Mommy, please go to the doctor- he'll make you better."

"Sydney, I appreciate your concern but this is a grown-up conversation and the decision here will be made by gown ups. Or the one of us who is thinking clearly enough to deserve the title. I cannot see a doctor and your father is going to have to accept that."

"I'm taking you to the hospital if I have to club you over the head, throw you in the trunk and drive you there myself."

"If you do that, they'll never believe me when I tell them how I broke the rib."

"That is immaterial."

They had reached the car, and it was only Laura's injured state that enabled Jack to deposit Sydney in the back seat and his wife in the front without any real interference. Then he got behind the wheel, and set the key in the ignition.

"Laura, kindly pick up that visitors' guide and tell me where we may locate the nearest medical practitioner."

"I hear there's a witch doctor in the French Quarter who specializes in warts and pigheaded husbands."

"Nothing he can do for us, then. How about somebody who didn't get his degree from Community College of Cameroon?"

"Jack. For the LAST time-"

"That's a promise?"

"JACK!"

"Laura?"

For just a second he thought she would hit him, but the arm she raised must have pulled something painful because with a little gasp she dropped it abruptly and leaned back in her seat, panting. Jack took one look at her and slammed his fist down on the horn, sending tourists scattering as he peeled out of the parking lot.

"Sydney," he tossed the traveller's guide over his shoulder, "you got a very good grade in spelling. Why don't you look for the word H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L-S in there? Daddy will give you a cookie if you find it in under a minute."

"Okay, Daddy!" pleased to be of service, her little brown head bent over the book and searching industriously, Sydney was silent for about forty-seven seconds of that minute. Then she bobbed back up and carolled, "Daddy, I found it!"

"That's my girl. Now, spell out what's under it for me, will you?"

So Sydney did, and Jack checked the street signs, and in less than ten minutes the shaking, wheezing car was double-parked in front of New Orleans General.

By that point too pale to even argue, Laura could only glare mutinously as her husband as he handed her out and beckoned at their daughter to join them. Then the three of them made their way inside, Sydney skipping, Laura bent over and trying not to look too infirm, and Jack right by her side.

The really marvellous thing about breaking a rib is you tend to get an audience with a doctor very quickly. The less fortunate thing is that getting in at all requires some form of insurance, and for that, you have to give your name.

Laura would have cursed, spat, scratched and done anything else necessary to keep Jack from handing it over, but she couldn't; one hand plastered to her side, she propped herself up on the back of a chair and silently loathed the room for daring to spin. Sydney stood at her mother's side, confused and concerned, and Jack gave them his name.

His real name.

"You idiot," his wife moaned, then the world spun round her again, and this time it took her down with it.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Laura regained consciousness in a hospital bed. Sydney was perched on a stool beside her, carefully sounding out words from a colourful magazine she held as Jack, settled in a vinyl armchair on the other side of the bed, coached her.

"The duke," Sydney sounded out carefully, "picked her up in his- his strong . . . sin . . . sinehh . . . sinawwy . . ."

"Sinewy."

"Sinewy arms, and care- carried her up the hill, to whirr-ee . . . to where the . . . cottizh? Cottage was. It was dark, and cold, but the Lady didn't care. Because she knew when they were inside, the duke would bane . . . bann-eye . . . baneesh?"

"Banish."

"Banish the chill by-"

"Sydney Anne, you put that down right now! Jack! Where did she _get _that?!" On that furious note Laura tried to sit up, but quickly thought better of it when a wave of nausea overtook her. Jack glanced over.

"Oh, good- you're awake. I told them they could keep you under while they taped you up, but they didn't tell me how long you'd be out."

There were so many things she could have said to that, but none of them seemed really appropriate with her daughter sitting right beside her. So instead she spared Sydney a quick smile before turning her attention to her husband.

"What was it, exactly?"

"Ribs, dear. Just like you said."

Her expression may have warned him he was really pushing his luck, so he delivered the rest of his report.

"One clean break, two cracked and one bruised. She packs a punch, our daughter does."

"Mommy, did I hurt you very much?" Sydney wanted to know, and for one wild second Laura was tempted to tell her the truth, but in the end she simply shook her head.

"Mommy's had worse," she promised, so Sydney beamed, and would have gone back to reading about the duke and his lady in the dark, chilly cottage had her mother's hand not snaked out and plucked the offending literature from her daughter's hand.

"Censorship, Laura?" Jack smiled at her. "Is that the Communist in you coming out?"

It could have been offensive, but instead it just made her laugh.

"Burn eet," she decreed with as thick an accent as she knew how to affect, casting the magazine into her husband's lap. "I vill not tolerate zis . . . bourgeois Capitaleest Americano feelth in my presence."

"That's about three different nationalities you've managed to incorporate right there," Jack laughed, but he did slide the magazine out of sight.

Smiling fondly at him, Laura sobered long enough to voice a question.

"When did they say they'll release me?"

At the question, Jack sobered too.

"You don't need to worry about that right now. I want you to rest."

"I can't afford to rest," she tried to speak as forcefully as she could without raising her voice. "Jack, these people will come for me. I don't know about yours, but mine, I can promise you, are not going to wait for me to get better. They'll have your name flagged and the moment that charge goes through to the insurance company, they'll be after us. We have to get out; now."

He looked unhappy about it, but at least he didn't argue. That was one of the best things about Jack, really; he knew when not to push it. Instead, he got to his feet and went to see about release forms. In his absence, the Bristow ladies regarded each other, the smaller of the two infinitely more solemn than the larger. At last, Sydney spoke.

"I know it was my fault."

"Oh, sweetheart, no-"

"If I hadn't been up there, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's my fault."

"Sydney, no. Mommy chose to get hurt. To protect you, Mommy chose to let you fall on her. Do you understand? Mommy saw what would happen if you fell, and she decided that she couldn't let that happen. So she stood under you as you fell." Laura held her daughter's eyes, trying to impress the truth upon her. "This was Mommy's choice. Mommy's fault. Nobody's but mine."

Sydney looked suspicious at first, and seemed to be considering this very carefully. At last, she ventured a question.

"Promise?"

"Promise," Laura said, with such conviction that Sydney's whole face lit up and she leaped off her stool to fling her arms around her mother, who didn't care that suddenly her torso was screaming at her, since they were her daughter's arms she felt.

"That's my girl," she affirmed, then gently slid Sydney back so she could get a good look at her. "Now. When Daddy comes back, he may have some sort of excuse but I think we'll be able to work around it. And once we do, we'll be going back to the camp site and packing up the tent-" she had to raise her voice slightly over Sydney's cry of dismay, "packing up the tent and going deeper into the camp site. Maybe even right out of it. Because I know Daddy won't let me drive, but I won't let him drive all day and all night either, so we're going to have to get creative."

"But where would we go if we didn't stay at the camp?" Sydney wanted to know, so Laura suggested she retrieve the visitors' guide from beside Jack's chair so the two of them could look for likely alternatives. Louisiana didn't offer many.

"It may have to be the camp site after all," Laura concluded at last, and Sydney couldn't remember ever seeing her mother look so concerned. "Maybe we could go further in . . . abandon the car, follow one of the nature trails and set up off the path . . ." She was talking to herself, now; unmindful of Sydney's presence, immersed in the task at hand, her fingers flew over the map, calculating, tapping out a graceful, staccato rhythm in time to the clicking of her own mental gears. "Invisible's impossible. Maybe later, but not now. We'll have to buy supplies . . . another cooler. Lots of ice . . . Sydney," with a sudden shift of focus, "pass Mommy that notepad, please; and a pen."

Sydney did, feeling suddenly solemn in the face of her mother's anxiety. She delivered the tools then stood quietly at the side and watched as Mommy's hand flew across the paper, making quick, bold strokes that didn't look like anything Sydney had ever seen before.

"Mommy?" she ventured at last. "Is that in code?"

"Not exactly," the tone of the reply made it clear that only half the speaker's mind was on conversation. "It's shorthand. And Russian. That's Mommy's language."

"Oh." Sydney watched as the Russian shorthand notes grew more and more prolific, then tried another question. "If it's your language, Mommy, does that make it my language too?"

"No, sweetheart, languages don't work like that. You could learn it, though, if you like; Mommy would be happy to teach you once we set up our new camp."

"Okay, Mommy," Sydney cheered up at the thought, "I'd like that."

With this promise acquired, she was perfectly content to stand where she was and watch Mommy continue to make notes until Daddy came back and said he had started the ball rolling; whatever that meant. Mommy seemed to know; at least, she didn't look around for any ball (the way Sydney did) but instead passed the notepad to Daddy, who looked at it, blinked, looked at Mommy, and then back to the notepad.

"Something to occupy your time as you wait for the papers to clear," Mommy told him, and somehow she made it sound nice; as if there was a joke between them. Daddy didn't seem to know the joke, though, because he sighed, and told Sydney to go stand by the window and count how many cars were in the parking lot. Then, as Sydney went to do so, Daddy and Mommy began having a very heated conversation in many funny words that Sydney didn't understand. The conversation ended when Daddy sighed and made the annoyed sounds he always did when he lost a fight, then stomped out of the room. Mommy spoke to her then, in English this time, and said,

"Sydney, while we wait for your father why don't you get Mommy her clothes? I think you'll find they're in that cupboard over there."

Sydney did as she was told, and then closed the curtains around them both so Mommy could get dressed. It was funny to watch- or it would have been, if Mommy's awkward little hops, twists and grimaces hadn't looked like they were hurting her so much as she struggled into her jeans and then tried to pull her shirt on over all the bandages wrapped around her tummy. Sydney, watching, grew concerned, and when Mommy saw this she made Sydney turn around and look at the curtains instead. At last she said she was done, so Sydney was able to shove the curtains back and get back up on her stool, while Mommy sat on the bed with the makeup she took from her purse, and made her face look even nicer than it already did.

"What do you think?" she twinkled at her daughter once the process was done, and Sydney declared she was beautiful. Laura laughed, slipped the cosmetics back into the depths of her purse, and faced her child.

"So. Are you with me? We convince Daddy that what we want more than anything else in the world is to take the tent and the coolers further in; we'll put on our boots and we'll have a proper hike! Then we can set up camp off one of the trails, and then we have a real campout- miles away from everywhere!"

"Yeah!" Sydney's eyes shone as she caught wind of the carefully-contrived excitement in her mother's voice. She bounced happily on her seat and clapped her hands, although secretly she wasn't too sure about the 'miles away from everywhere' part. She had a sneaking suspicion that not too many people went miles anyway from everywhere, which meant that finding people to play with could prove rather difficult. Still, if it made Mommy this happy, she was willing to give it a try. So she and Mommy shook on it, and then Mommy let her get on the hospital bed once she had promised not to poke Mommy's sides, because they still hurt a little.

So Sydney cuddled up against Mommy on the little bed (Mommy even let her put the head and the feet up and down! But not at the same time, Sydney discovered, because that made Mommy groan) and Mommy told her stories about a mysterious wisewoman who came from a faraway land and wed a noble soldier in the king's army. It was a very good story, as stories went, but as Sydney felt her eyelids drooping she couldn't shake the feeling that it was a story she had already heard somewhere before. But it didn't seem too important now, because her eyes were so heavy and the bed was so cosy and Mommy was so warm that suddenly Sydney felt as if she just couldn't stay awake any longer. So Mommy put her arm around her, whispered to her to get some rest, and Sydney did.

0O0O0O0O0O0

_I don't know how many people are intimately familiar with the first season, but those who are might recall a family recollection Syd had about a certain hiking trip, and if you do, you'll have a good idea of what's coming up next. If you don't, well, that's okay, because it's not really crucial that you do anyway, since I'm going to write about that very shortly- and if you don't want to believe it until you see it, then I really can't say I blame you!_


End file.
